


A Woman's Heart is a Deep Ocean of Secrets--Tell Me Sweetly

by write4good



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: And There Will be Death, But our leading ladies will be fine, Expect canon typical VIOLENCE and TRAUMA per the sinking, F/F, F/M, I repeat: KORRASMI LIVES, THIS IS A TITANIC AU, because Asami is a genius and they can share the headboard, no one else is safe though, ships on ships, so there will be MINOR CHARACTER DEATH
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:07:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 68,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22526038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write4good/pseuds/write4good
Summary: Asami struggled to take a breath—struggled to make her lungs take in air when all they wanted to do was expel the screams she had been swallowing all this time.  But even as she tensed to recoil, to pull her hand away from Wu’s grip, she felt the cold steeling over her heart—she thought of her father, of the hurt look in his eyes.  And his worries for her future.I won’t be around forever, Sweetie, he had said.  With Wu, you’ll always be safe.And even though her thoughts flew, fleetingly, to Korra—to the incredibly strong and courageous stranger with the twinkling eyes and a devil-may-care smile who had brought her back from the brink—she had to bow her head.  She knew she had to let it go.It wasn’t safe.And she was afraid it might not ever be.She had a new life waiting in America, one of duty and Nothing Else.  And once the ship docked--she would never see Korra again.  Their time together, those fleeting moments, would only ever live, in her memory.~ or ~Let's put the Ship of Dreams on the SHIP OF DREAMS!
Relationships: Asami/Wu (arranged engagement), Bolin/Opal (Avatar), Jinora/Kai (Avatar), Korra/Asami Sato, Kuvira/Baatar Jr. (minor), Lin Beifong/Kya (past), Tenzin/Pema (background)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 74





	1. Arrival of an English Rose

10 April 1912

The atmosphere in Southampton was _breathless_. 

At least, that was how Asami would describe it. She certainly didn’t feel she could breathe, constrained and wound up tight as she was in her perfectly tailored corset.

But of course, there were other things to be breathless for—the beautiful, sunny day, the pushing, shoving crowds…and of course, the magnanimous monstrosity sitting in the harbor. It was opulent and stunning. It was cold and demanding, it commanded the attention of _everyone_. 

All around the crowded docks were bright, eager faces—eyes blown wide and jaws dropped slack. Everyone was staring, but no one was _breathing_. 

It seemed no one wanted to break the spell.

Asami’s driver slammed his palm onto the horn—and suddenly Asami could hear shouts and whistles coming from all around her. Conversations sounded as inconsistent as thunder, both excited and terrified, from the people in the streets. Asami could hear laughter and grunting from porters under particularly heavy burdens. There were vendors lining the streets, they’d arrived almost overnight, drawn to the crowds and promise of business like flies to dung. They called out a discordant chorus and proffered their goods to both pedestrians and the metal carriages that rumbled past. Asami pulled away from her window, taking a sharp breath, when one such vendor shoved a moldy cabbage up for display. Gulls cawed overhead and dogs barked savagely—and she swore she could hear someone somewhere crying. The docks were very much alive and teeming. 

Perhaps Asami was mistaken—perhaps she was the only one who couldn’t breathe. 

Asami was jolted once again by a touch on her arm, but this time she didn’t feel so overwhelmed. She looked up into her father’s eyes and was instantly reassured by the warmth she found there. 

“Are you alright, Sweetie? You look flushed.” Hiroshi Sato noted. 

Asami shook her head, “I’m fine.” 

Her father nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he turned away and peered through the car window. 

“Just look at it, Asami. Wu certainly wasn’t joking when he said we’d be traveling like royalty—nothing but the best for my princess.” Hiroshi beamed. He was well pleased with the grandiose ship that would be carrying his most valuable possessions across the ocean to America—namely a fleet of the latest model cars from his factory to flood the American market…and his daughter, of course. 

Asami couldn’t quite bring herself to smile. 

She had resigned herself to this trip long ago when her fiancé had first made the announcement that he had a hankering to see America—and he had said it just like that. Asami didn’t even know what a ‘hankering’ was.

All she knew was that they were leaving England. Her mother’s homeland. In a way—it had been Asami’s homeland too. She had been born here, after all. London was her home. She had planned to go to Oxford to study engineering—

But that wouldn’t be _proper_.

Asami’s heart turned cold when she thought again of the disappointment on her father’s face when he’d learned that she’d submitted an application to the college without his permission—the look of sheer horror in his eyes when he’d heard the maids gossiping about his little princess, about all the ways she was growing into a _woman_ rather than a _lady_.

He had taken it as a personal failure—as if he had somehow failed as a parent, as her sole caregiver, simply because she wasn’t turning into her mother. Genteel and Delicate. A lady of refinement and High Society.

He just couldn’t see that more than anything in the world Asami wanted to be just like him. 

So there had been changes. _Drastic_ changes.

Hiroshi had written directly to the college to withdraw his daughter’s application. Asami was no longer allowed to visit him at the factory. She was no longer allowed to converse with the factory workers—or anyone really. 

Except Wu.

That had been the biggest change. A fiancé of good breeding—and in possession of a large fortune. 

Asami didn’t think she had breathed since the day Hiroshi had casually mentioned it over breakfast—as if the trading away of one’s daughter merited just as little consideration as the state of the skies outside—grey and gloomy. 

Asami’s life had been completely altered in the span of a few days. 

And this trip to America? 

Hiroshi was thrilled. He himself had left Japan to follow the woman he loved, and now it seemed Asami was expected to repeat the cycle—to follow Wu to America. Hiroshi seemed to take it all as a sign that he was doing something right after too many years of indulgence, too many years of cultivating his child to be a free-thinking individual. 

Needless to say, Asami _did not_ feel like a princess even as she was attended to like royalty—helped out of her proverbial carriage by a gracious driver who bowed low over her gloved hand.

Asami was glad of her large hat shielding her from the sun. The noise of the dock had reached a crescendo—a sure sign that the hour of departure was drawing nearer. 

Asami could feel perspiration gathering at the nape of her neck and she tipped her head back to squint up at the ship, her heart trembling as she took in the beast that was going to drag her away from the only world she had ever known—she wouldn’t be kicking and screaming of course, because she loved her father with all her heart, but she could not celebrate. She did not welcome this. 

And she shuddered as she stared up at the White Star Liner--at the _Titanic._

Asami had read all about the ship—her father hadn’t yet forbidden her from _reading_ , which was a small blessing. Asami’s eyes swept the length of her—883 feet—and then traveled from the bridge down—somewhere below the water line was the keel and the propellers—104 feet deep. Asami couldn’t see the rudder, but she remembered reading that it was several storeys tall—if Asami had to guess, she’d say that it was at least as tall as the hotel she and her father had been staying in of late, or at least it _should_ be that large. A ship of _Titanic_ ’s magnitude would need a strong, sturdy rudder. It was much more important than all those swimming pools and restaurants and Turkish baths and _God knows_ _what else_ had been stuffed on board. 

And that was of course, what irked Asami most. _Titanic_ seemed the perfect slaver, a cold and dark purpose hidden beneath layers and layers of opulence and amenity. Who could possibly resist the glamour? Even Asami wasn’t immune. The part of her that was just like her father had to admire the workmanship, marvel at the masterful engineering. 

But she wasn’t completely fooled.

She also hated it.

She hated every inch of it, from keel to stern and all the way down to E deck and beyond. All around her, the crowds in Southampton were a thousand voices strong in excitement. _Titanic_ to them was a god of the seas, luxury and prominence and steel. A force beyond mere mortal comprehension. 

Asami still felt breathless. But now she felt hot under the sun as well. She wished she had thought to bring her fan. 

“Tahno! My main man! There you are!” A familiar, far too excited to be sincere voice somehow rose above the cacophony all around them and Asami found herself groaning as she stepped away from the gleaming Satomobile. She truthfully wished she could simply melt into the crowd—that she could be swept away from this nightmare.

Wu appeared then, dressed in his dapper suit. He threw an arm around the very driver that had helped Asami out of the car and rubbed his knuckles along the poor man’s scalp, chortling at his own fun. 

“I hope you got my favorite fiancé here in one piece—haha! Joke’s on you, you dog—I only have one fiancé!” Wu laughed as he shoved the driver playfully. 

To his credit, the driver, Tahno, did not react violently to the unwarranted invasion of personal space—though his eye did twitch as he carefully reached up to fix his hair. Asami would have laughed if she did not feel so cold and numb inside. 

“Ah! There she is! My favorite English dame!” Wu hefted his cane when he saw Asami, a debonair smile stretching across his face. 

Asami did not appreciate being hailed like some kind of dog. She kept her eyes up on the R.M.S. _Titanic_ , her lips in a thin line.

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about. It doesn’t look any bigger than the _Mauretania_.” Asami observed dryly. 

“You’re funny!” Wu exclaimed, sauntering over toward his fiancé with a self-assured swing to his step. He was dressed far too warmly for April—his three piece suit and scarf and gloves coupled with an overcoat _with a fur collar_ made him appear ridiculous in Asami’s opinion—but she held her tongue and did her best not to flinch away when he draped his arm over her shoulders.

“I think you need to get your eyes checked, Sweetpea—look. It’s over a hundred feet longer than the _Mauretania_. And far more luxurious!” Wu explained with his usual pomp and cadence. “Did you know it’s got a Parisian café on board? Oh—and _Turkish_ baths!” 

Wu sighed wistfully, “There’s nothing quite so rejuvenating as a steamy Turkish bath at the end of the day, have you ever—”

“No.” Asami stepped away before Wu had even finished his question. She wanted to get out of the sun. She wanted to get away from the press of excited, hopeful, eager bodies. She wanted this miserable voyage to just get going so she could find a quiet corner somewhere on the giant ship where she could break down and cry.

“Huh…Your daughter is far too hard to impress, Hiroshi.” Wu said sadly as the portly older man finished paying the nearby porters and came to stand where Asami had been only moments before. 

“She’s just tired—long journey.” Hiroshi reassured the young man with a clap on his shoulder. Wu was much slighter than Hiroshi Sato and he nearly toppled over at the sentiment. “But you needn’t worry about Asami, she’s just as impressed as I am—what a ship! Look at those rivets! Look at all that healthy black smoke—It’s no wonder they say she is unsinkable.” 

“You’re right, Pops!” Wu agreed heartily, no longer rubbing his shoulder as he jumped in place and grinned. “God himself could not sink this ship!”

Asami didn’t share their enthusiasm. Her narrowed eyes were raking over the very rivets her father had gestured to in the hull—they seemed far too small to hold together something so large. 

As if to taunt her, the _Titanic_ let out a screaming blast, breaking her silence. The crowd seemed to surge forward as one, as if by sheer force of will they could force the ship to get underway all the faster, to get everything moving and get beyond _waiting_.

“We’d better hurry—Asami, if you’d take my arm.” Wu made a grandiose bow, wriggling his eyebrows as if under the delusion that doing so would tempt Asami further. 

Asami swallowed her displeasure and slipped her arm through Wu’s, glancing once at her father who was still beaming and gazing up at the _Titanic_ with awe and wonder on his face—she had not seen him so excited since before her mother had died. 

“This way.” Wu said eagerly, beaming with the confidence of a showman or tour guide. 

Asami bowed her head and allowed herself to be led through the crowd toward the gangway.

The urge to run was only fleeting. 

It always was. 

She wouldn’t fight her father on this. She wouldn’t fight him on anything. She loved him too much. 

And yet—the desire was there, aching in her throat like a half-swallowed scream. 

She wouldn’t fight. 

She wouldn’t resist.

And if she held her breath—she wouldn’t even scream.


	2. The Lucky Hand

Several blocks away from the docks teeming with well-wishers and harried, last-minute passengers, a very serious poker game was underway. Two men and two women sat around a shabby old table covered with priceless treasures, and the entire pub had gone silent to watch the final hand. 

In the entire establishment, the only sound was that of a ticking pocket watch settled prominently among all of the loose coins and trinkets. 

No one dared breathe. 

Two of the players looked eerily similar; long, sharp faces framed by thick, dark tresses hanging down over squared shoulders. They seemed to be locked in a heated argument of some kind—though not a single word was spoken. Their faces were stoic and unexpressive—but their eyes were bold and burning. 

Across from the frustrated twins, a young woman of equally stunning dark coloring was lounging in her chair. Her face was not nearly so stony as she idly rearranged the cards in her hand. Her air was self-assured, and the tilt of her head was confident. 

Beside her, the final young man was sweating buckets. He looked almost green in the face as he stared at the pile of loose cash and coins, a pocket watch and several penknives—and, to top it all off, two crumpled 3rd class tickets for the Ship of Dreams. Two tickets to freedom—to a better life.

Bolin shot his poker partner another look—he envied how Korra could be so cool under pressure. It still sometimes shocked him—to catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye after looking away for awhile—to see her with short hair. 

She’d cut it recently. While they’d been drifting around Paris.

It was classic Korra. To be rash and bold. Living in the moment—not making any plans.

And Bolin thought it would be perfectly reasonable to blame this entire situation on his friend, to say that she’d talked him into betting _everything_ they had on a whim—but the truth was, Bolin hadn’t fought nearly as hard as he probably should have. 

They’d had a plan, him and Korra and his brother, Mako—and it had seemed strange, given the rootless nature of their existence for so long, to have a set course. But it had been Mako’s idea, and Bolin trusted Mako implicitly. Mako had come up with a plan to get them all out of Europe and if Bolin had been letting anyone other than Korra serve as his life coach, they probably would have been able to see it through to the end. But, as it turned out—Korra was not a very patient woman.

Which was why they were here—in this pub, instead of down on the docks to wave the _Titanic_ off. If they lost this hand—they would lose _everything_. Not that they’d had much to begin with, but Bolin still felt sick to his stomach at the prospect of walking out of the pub with not even a dime in his pocket.

“Hit me again, Desna.” Korra said lightly, causing several in the crowd to take sharp breaths. One of the older men took a long draught of ale and swiped his dirty coat sleeve along his mouth, his eyes never leaving the table. 

Bolin’s eyes widened as he watched the card slide across the table. He watched nervously as Korra discreetly lifted the corner of the card and then deftly slipped it into her hand. Her blue eyes betrayed nothing. 

Somewhere in the distance, Bolin could hear the _Titanic_ ’s whistle blowing.

He was sure his heart stopped beating. 

Korra cleared her throat and leaned forward, for the first time in several minutes looking engaged as she scooted to the edge of her chair and fixed each of her opponents with a cool stare. 

“Alright—the moment of truth. Somebody’s life’s about to change.” Korra said with severity. 

Bolin groaned and bit his lip. He hated when Korra dealt in absolutes. It often meant they were about to get into some serious trouble. 

Bolin almost jumped when the table shook, but when he turned his head he saw that it was just one of the creepy twins—was it Eska or Desna? Bolin truly couldn’t tell—throwing down a bad hand.

“You are dead to me.” The remaining twin spoke icily, lips barely moving. 

“Bolin, whatcha got?” Korra asked, turning away from the disturbing display. 

Bolin’s entire body shook with his sigh as he tossed down his cards. 

“I’ahh…got zilch.” He admitted defeat, his Irish brogue slipping through. 

Korra nodded as if she had expected this and lifted her eyes to the only twin still holding cards. 

“Eska?” 

Slowly, the corners of the twin’s mouth turned up into a sinister smile and she set down two pair—Bolin had to do a double take. _Two pair_?!

Bolin’s eyes darted up to Korra, desperate to read even the slightest tell in her calm features. He couldn’t feel his teeth, his heart was still stopped up in his chest and he felt as though he could explode from the pressure building up inside as he prayed and _prayed_ that Korra could pull this off, if not they’d probably have to go back to being homeless and—

Bolin’s world trembled dangerously when he saw Korra’s eyebrows shoot together. He lifted his clenched fist to his mouth and nibbled on his nails nervously—forgetting all of his promises to his brother to kick the habit. 

“Uh oh—two pair.” Korra murmured.

 _Uh oh?_ What the flyin’ _feck_ did she mean, uh oh?!

Bolin froze when Korra glanced up and caught his eye—she looked grave. Like _somebody’s died_ grave. Bolin wondered if the soup kitchens would still serve him if he begged--sure, they'd been banned for brawling, but he could always try a disguise. 

“I’m sorry, Bolin…” Korra sighed dramatically. 

“Sorry?!” Bolin couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “What do ya mean _sorry_?! We jes'—Korra, how could ya let me bet all o’ our money—”

“Hey, calm down! _I’m sorry_ because I know how much you hate sailing—but you’re gonna have to kiss solid ground goodbye for awhile because we’re crossing the ocean!” Korra crowed as she slammed down her cards—a full house. 

_A full house_!

Bolin almost couldn’t believe it. He snatched up the cards to check for himself—his heart somehow started back up again and took off like it would never stop, not until they got to America—Bolin almost fainted at the thought. They were going to America! They didn’t have to wait!

Around the pub there were gasps and laughs and quite a few shocked expletives, but the loudest cursing came from the twins, Eska and Desna, who were shouting at each other in a language Bolin did not understand.

“No way! Are ya—heaven above, Korra! I could—I could kiss ya, my lovely!” Bolin hollered as he leapt to his feet and wrapped his friend up in a fierce hug. Korra was laughing, but her breath caught when all of the air was literally squeezed out of her lungs.

“Put me down! Put me down!” Korra panted breathlessly. 

Bolin sheepishly did as she asked, flushing with more excitement than embarrassment.

“And here—kiss these!” Korra laughed as she snatched up the tickets and shoved them into her over-eager friend’s chest. 

Bolin did just that, rather dramatically and to a round of uproarious applause from their impromptu audience. 

“I can’t believe it! We’re going t’ America!” Bolin shouted, still dazed. 

“I know, I know—I’m going home!” Korra crowed, her eyes bright and dreamy. 

“No, girly— _Titanic_ ’s goin’ to America, in five minutes.” The surly voice of the barkeep cut through Bolin and Korra’s enjoyment, and every eye in the pub turned toward the little man. 

Korra froze and turned, her eyes widening when she saw how dangerously close the little hand of the clock was to the 12. She snapped her head back around to her friend and saw her own horror mirrored in his eyes. 

“Spirits!” 

Korra leapt into action, jumping over her disregarded chair to grab up their winnings. 

Bolin was right beside her, holding open a rucksack so Korra could rake everything she could into it. 

“Hurry, hurry!” Bolin shouted. 

“I am! I am!” Korra shot back. 

All around them, the patrons of the pub were shouting encouragement or simply cursing.

“We got’ter go!” Bolin shouted. 

He had dashed across the room to retrieve his hat and Korra’s coat. He tossed it to her as he started toward the door. Korra tossed the rucksack over one shoulder and lifted her free hand to her mouth, letting out a piercing whistle as she ran toward the door amid the cheers and heavy-handed pats on the back. 

“Naga! Come on!” Korra shouted loudly even as she rounded the door and took off after Bolin down the sidewalk. Her heart was beating furiously in her chest and she could see the ship— _the_ ship—looming in the distance, just waiting for her.

“We’ll never make it!” Bolin called over his shoulder. There were so many people still milling about—most of them headed in the same direction, toward the docks. But most of them were obstacles and Bolin was sure they’d never make it in time—not if the launch was still on schedule, and something that grand probably didn’t wait for anybody, not even the king. 

Korra heard a howl nearby and she turned her head to watch her faithful companion running toward her. Naga found her, just like she always did. 

It was one of the few certainties of life. 

Korra didn’t have to give any further commands—Naga simply fell into running beside her, tongue out and perky ears forward. 

“Holy Shite! Would ya’ look at t’ size o that thing?!” Bolin hollered.

“We’re riding in high style now—we’re practically royalty now, Bo!” Korra was grinning as she dodged small children and stationary adults. Naga barked happily beside her, running over several toes. 

Korra couldn’t see through or over the heads of the crowd now between her and the _Titanic_ , but she could see the smokestacks gleaming in the sun—she just trusted that somehow she’d find the way. Life had a funny way getting her exactly where she needed to go. 

Luckily, Bolin was slightly taller. 

“Over there! Hurry, hurry!” Bolin had to grab Korra’s arm and shove her in the right direction. Korra almost stumbled, but caught herself quickly and kept running. Up ahead, through the shoulders of two rather tall gentlemen, Korra could see the gangway was being detached and the officer at the door was turning to disappear forever into the bowels of the ship.

“Wait—no! Wait!” Korra shouted with all of her might. 

“Wait! Shite! We’re passengers!” Bolin hollered right behind her, lifting two tickets up in the air, praying that the man at the end of the gangway would spot them.

Naga barked and darted right through the legs of one of the gentlemen in their way, unbalancing the solid human wall. Korra darted through the stumbling pair and Bolin shouldered his way right behind her, still waving the tickets clenched tight in his fist. 

“What the—” The attendant had turned away from the gangway just in time to catch a full-bodied collision with the white wolf who seemed intent on spilling him directly into the water. The officer standing at the door stiffened and turned to observe the commotion, his eyes widening. 

“We’re passengers!” Korra shouted again.

“But have you been through the inspection?” The officer demanded.

“Yeah, o’ course!” Bolin called far too quickly. 

“Anyway, we don’t have any lice—we’re Americans. Both of us.” Korra leapt in to save her friend’s obvious lie and even put on her biggest smile. 

The uptight officer’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked the pair over, the exotic woman and her Irish-sounding companion. 

“Let me see your—” Before the poor attendant could finish speaking, Naga let out a triumphant bark and leaped across the small gap. She startled the officer so much that he fell back, opening the door even wider. 

“No wait!” The gangway attendant shouted, half reaching for the dog who had splattered his shirt with mud and licked half of his face raw. 

“Bad girl!” Bolin called in the spirit of fairness. 

“We’ll get her!” Korra called cheerfully as she did just as Naga had done—jumped effortlessly across the small gap without the assistance of the gangway plank. She darted right around the officer and kept running, grinning when she heard Bolin’s grunting as he jumped as well. 

“Wait, you can’t—”

“Here's our tickets, my good man! I think she went this a’ way!” Bolin called as he grabbed Korra’s wrist and started running blindly through the milling crowds—most of the people he could see were wearing pressed White Star Line uniforms, and he felt bad when he accidentally knocked over a waiter carrying a bottle of champagne somewhere, but he didn’t dare stop to apologize—he was afraid that at any minute they were going to be tossed back out onto the dock, and he couldn’t bear that thought—not when they were _here_!

Bolin pulled Korra around the nearest corner and fell back against the wall, panting heavily. 

“Wow—tha’ was a close one.” Bolin heaved. 

“Come on!” Korra laughed. She took charge and grabbed the strap of Bolin’s suspenders. She could hear Naga still howling away somewhere down the hallway, but Korra didn’t even turn her head. She tugged Bolin down the hall to a set of stairs, desperate to get above decks. 

“Wait—what are we doin’, love?!” Bolin demanded, even as he allowed his feet to go wherever Korra decided to take him. The woman was exceptionally strong and even her long-sleeved shirt couldn’t quite hide her muscles. “Shouldn’t we find Mako? He’s gonna be so surprised—”

Bolin’s words stuttered to a halt as he followed Korra out onto the aft well deck. Korra took only a moment to get her bearings before turning to drag Bolin toward a set of steel stairs leading up to the poop deck where crowds were already gathered. 

“Come on!” Korra grinned once again. Her heart was pounding furiously and her feet seemed to be flying. The atmosphere was _electric_. And _alive._ So many people and so much excitement—Korra just felt lucky to get to be a part of it.

There were elegant ladies slowly waving handkerchiefs and dapper gentlemen doffing their top hats surrounded by even prettier ladies in their threadbare dresses and stockings full of holes and young men dressed in grunge much like Bolin. They were all gathered together to wave goodbye to whoever they were leaving behind. Toward the end of the row there was a family with at least three children pressing close to the rails to wave goodbye, a particularly eager bald boy was restless and excited on his father’s shoulders, but the two little girls were more subdued as they stood with their mother and waved demurely. 

Korra slipped into the row and started waving erratically, her grin only stretching wider. 

Bolin watched her for several moments, slipping his hands in his pockets as he rolled his eyes. 

“What? D’ya know somebody?” He asked. 

“Course not! That’s not the point.” Korra shot over her shoulder. Her short hair was caught up in the wind all around her face like a beautiful mane. 

Korra caught Bolin’s eye and beckoned him over. She turned sideways to make room for him, shooting him an incredibly effective pout until he threw his hands up in the air and came to stand with her and wave goodbye. 

Everyone Bolin cared about was either dead or on this ship with him. So he waved goodbye to Southampton itself—to hunger. And misery. 

He waved goodbye to every upturned nose and every door that had been slammed in his face. Every cold alley he’d slept in and every fire that had been put out by unfeeling bobbies.

“Goodbye!” Bolin called, his voice joining over a thousand others, “Goodbye and Good Riddance! I’m going to America, ya bollix!” 


	3. Surprise, Surprise--the Gang's All Here

Korra led the way down to the boiler rooms. 

She didn’t actually know her way around the _Titanic_ as of yet, but she had been on _ships_ before. Never one of this size, but how different could it be? The boilers were generally in the bowels of the ship, which meant they needed to go ‘down’. 

So Korra put as much confidence as she could into her swagger as she led Bolin to the lift—the _electric_ lift?!—and sauntered in with Naga just behind her. The dog had found Korra after only three whistles, which Korra took as a good sign. It was a comfort to know that Naga could still find her even on this luxurious vessel.

“But what if 'e gets mad?” Bolin asked as the lift shuddered and shook as it struggled down past D deck.

“He won’t get mad.” Korra reassured her friend, keeping her eyes on the grate. 

“But what if 'e does?” Bolin asked, still nervous.

“Then I’ll tell him his plan would have kept us apart for months and he’ll get over it.” Korra sighed, rolling her eyes. 

“Fair enough—but I’m still tellin' ‘im it was yore idea.” Bolin decided. 

Korra chuckled and ran a hand through her short hair. 

“Most of the good ones usually are.” Korra boasted. 

Bolin couldn’t exactly argue. It had been Korra’s idea to leave Europe and poverty behind. And it had been Korra’s idea to seek employment on the _Titanic_ , even if Mako had been the only one of their little band to actually get accepted. The quartermaster had turned Korra away because he didn’t take girls, no matter how strong and fit. And Bolin had been too broad-shouldered to fit through the small shoots and doorways cut into the siding for the coal workers and other hands. So they had been forced to adapt. Mako had decided it would be best if he went ahead to America to get a job, to settle in, and then he would send for Korra and Bolin as soon as he could. 

And they’d all agreed that it was the best option. 

But then on their way to the wharf to wave off the great _Titanic_ , Korra had gotten that familiar glint in her eye and she’d dragged Bolin into the pub as if she’d had an uncanny instinct—as if she’d known precisely where they needed to be to change their fate. 

And now they were all going to America together. 

Bolin still felt that he must be dreaming. 

“You might want to watch your step down here, the quartermaster doesn’t like for passengers to come down this far.” The attendant said suddenly. 

“We’ll be careful.” Korra promised, giving one of her most reassuring smiles. 

Naga barked in agreement and her tail thumped on the floor of the lift, making the entire structure shake and rattle even more dangerously.

"Would you please get her to stop doing that?” The attendant begged as he shot the dog that was roughly the size of a small horse an annoyed look. 

“Sorry, she’s just excited.” Korra’s grin turned sheepish. 

The attendant sniffed and pulled on a lever, causing the cage to screech to a halt. 

Bolin helped the attendant pull the steel grate back. 

“G-deck.” The attendant announced with a flourish. 

The hallway beyond the grate was a flurry of activity. The boat was moving now, if not at full speed, and there were reports to ferry back and forth—requests for more coal, reports on position and speed and the condition of the equipment, all of the little things that weren’t quite important enough to warrant a direct call to the bridge. There were boys dressed down in stained aprons and dirty shoes running every which way and officers looking only slightly less harried darted around corners just as frantically.

“Thanks!” Korra called as she hopped gracefully from the cage. Naga barked and followed directly after. 

“Thanks mate!” Bolin shot the attendant a half-salute and jumped down after his friend.

Bolin pressed himself as close to the wall as he could, though he felt that he and his friend presented more of an obstacle than he’d anticipated when he was almost immediately run into by at least two young boys who’d been running with their heads down. The hallway way deceptively narrow. 

“Now which way?” Bolin asked Korra, hefting his rucksack. 

Korra frowned and looked one way and then the other. One young boy pushed through a door clearly marked ‘Employees only’, and Korra swore she could feel a wave of heat come pressing into the hallway. 

“That way!” Korra shouted as she dodged a group of boys carrying stacks of papers. Bolin scrambled after his friend and apologized to one of the lads that ran into him. Two or three young pages stood with their mouths agape, gazing at Naga. 

Korra darted through the door that was swinging on its hinges, but immediately regretted it. There was a high pitched ringing that seemed to echo from every available surface and Korra reached up to cover her ears as she cursed and looked for an exit. Bolin let out a hiss when he stumbled into the room behind her and he knelt to cover Naga’s ears as well. The dog let out a loud whine and Korra stumbled toward a ladder on the far wall. 

“I think this may be…” Korra trailed off as she stared down through the hole. 

There was definite heat billowing up from below them, the kind of heat that came from about 160 furnaces. There were also voices rising from below, gruff and vehement. 

“Come on, you lot! Put your backs into it!” 

“I think Mako’s down there.” Korra turned excitedly to Bolin. 

“Oh right…” Bolin fiddled with his fingers and glanced at the at the thin chute. 

Bolin was built like an ox, powerful muscle in his shoulders and torso. He knew without scientifically measuring anything that there was no way he could fit through that tiny little entrance. 

“You wait here, I’ll go get him.” Korra said, reaching up to tug at her collar. She was already getting sweaty just by standing so close to the chute. 

“Are ya sure?” Bolin asked, still uncertain. 

Korra tugged off her vest and tossed it to Bolin. She swiped her forearm across her forehead, but the sweat just seemed to drip down faster. 

“Don’t worry—I’ll be right back!” Korra said with another smile as she hopped over to the ladder and gripped it tightly. 

Naga let out another whine and shuffled forward—but she too was too large for the chute. 

“Don’t worry, girl. I’ll be fine.” Korra kissed Naga’s nose and then disappeared from sight.

Naga whined and sat back heavily on her haunches. 

Bolin had to admit he could understand the sentiment. He chewed on his dirty nails and paced, anxious. He couldn’t hear much of anything outside of the room and he felt as if he had no way of keeping time—and that chute looked suspiciously like a portal to hell in Bolin’s opinion with the glowing and the grunting and moaning that he could hear coming from below. 

Bolin kept pacing. 

At one point, Bolin heard some kind of muted commotion and seconds later the door to the room he was in was thrown open. 

Bolin spun around, already reaching up in a nervous salute. There was an angry looking officer in the doorway, his face beet red in fury. 

“Did he come through here?!” The officer demanded. He wore glasses that had been cast askew and his combover was rumpled and disorderly. 

“Oh, uh—” Bolin made frantic gestures, hoping that he could pretend that he hadn’t heard the officer. 

“The boy! The stowaway! Did you see him?” The officer demanded, shouting even louder to be heard over the noise of the engine room. 

Beside Bolin, Naga growled and the officer’s eyes snapped down to her. 

“Say, why are you down here? Do you have permission to be…”

“Bataar! He’s over here!” A disembodied voice called. 

The officer, Bataar, stiffened and darted away without finishing his thought and Bolin wiped the sweat from his brow with Korra’s vest, thanking every spirit he could name for his good fortune. 

Naga let out a bark and Bolin turned to see Korra climbing back out of the chute.

“Korra! Thank the spirits! Are ya hurt—” Bolin almost swallowed his tongue when he saw his brother coming up right behind his friend. 

"Bolin!” Mako’s usually stony face was smudged with coal dust and his hair was limp with sweat. He had an unusual golden glow about him, as if he’d been licked by the golden flames he worked so hard to feed. 

"Mako, boyo—listen, I know ya said we shuld jes wait it out an’ play it safe, but Korra an’ me got tickets an’ I’m sore-y if yer mad but now we’re all together an’ I think tha’s what’s important—” Bolin was cut off when his brother wrapped his arms around him. 

Bolin was so shocked he dropped his rucksack and everything else. Mako’s embrace was sweaty but his grip was strong. 

“How could I be mad that my little brother is going with me to America?” Mako asked, leaning back to laugh at Bolin’s shocked expression. His accent was not so pronounced as his brother’s. He’d worked very hard to mask it, thinking that it would be easier to get scooped up for work if he sounded more sophisticated than his rough and tumble growing up had actually fostered.

Naga wagged her tail and Korra patted her head, grinning as she watched the brothers. 

“I jes’—I feel bad tha' yore gon’na be down thare working all t'e time an’ we get ta ride up top in style.” Bolin admitted, dropping his green eyes shamefully to the floor. 

“Hey, don’t you worry about me, little bro. They’re gonna give me some decent money when it’s over, and that’s all I care about. Just maybe sneak me a side of lamb or some caviar every now and then, they don’t feed us quite as well down there.” Mako laughed.

“And Mako can come see us when he’s not working, right Mako?” Korra interjected, stepping into the small circle. 

“Well, I don’t get many hours off, but—”

“Please?” Korra asked, pouting ever so slightly.

“Yeah, come on, Mako—please.” Bolin added, his green eyes wide and begging. 

Mako rolled his eyes.

“Alright, alright—I’ll come see you as often as I can.” Mako promised. 

Bolin let out a cheer and pulled Korra into a group hug. 

Korra once again felt all of the air squeezed from her lungs, but she laughed anyway. It was worth it to see the joy on Bolin’s face. 

Mako was much more reserved than his brother, but he did at least crack a smile. 

It was the happiest any of them had felt in a long time. 


	4. It's All About the Aesthetic

Asami was feeling the heat as she waited patiently for the maids to finish unloading her things. Each of her dresses was revealed with a flourish and her hats were stacked neatly in their boxes. Her toilette was set out primly for her, her bottles of scent and her brushes all lined neatly. Asami held a pair of leather work gloves in her hands, twisting them together as she glanced over the progress of the maids—she was afraid they would try to take her clothes and things that were considered un-ladylike and put them somewhere else, somewhere she may never find them.

After receiving yet another exasperated look from the maids, Asami sighed and slipped the gloves under her pillow. Then she stepped out of her room into the drawing room, but she still felt very warm.

Wu had spared no expense—in fact, he’d managed to secure a presidential suite. One with three individual rooms, two and a half bath, a large wardrobe room and a sitting room. As well as a gleaming private promenade deck with a fantastic view.

But even so—the spacious suite felt even more like a cage than the shiny sato-mobile that had brought Asami here. 

Asami rubbed at her neck as she glanced over the itinerary that Hiroshi had set down idly before wandering out onto the private deck with Wu—it looked as if Asami’s social engagements had been tended to just as carefully as they had been at home. She’d be subjected to the same scenes over and over again—lavish dinners with endless calls to pay, always to talk about the same dull things. Namely the ring on her finger. It was the only thing that would qualify her for stimulating conversation in Society. And Society had followed her right onto the ship. There was no escaping it.

Asami dabbed at the back of her neck with her handkerchief. She was finding it very difficult to breathe again. 

But Asami didn’t dare join her father and Wu out on the deck among the potted rose bushes and ivy trellises to chatter idly about how much money had gone into the _Titanic_. 

She was much more concerned with her treasures—the paintings that she’d brought on her journey. She wanted to be sure the maids handled them with care. 

“Here we are, Miss…maybe one or two here?” One maid suggested as a hired man carted in the crate full of Asami’s favorite paintings. The woman indicated a blank space in the wall over a sturdy table of deep rosewood. At the moment there was an empty champagne bucket and white linens on the table. 

“Yes, there was a Degas in there—one with several dancers.” Asami murmured as she went to the crate and started reverently going through them, canvas by canvas. Her heart seemed to calm as she looked over the scenes that gave her so much joy—Monet and Degas, one called ‘Starry Night’. 

“Ah, here it is.” Asami smiled as she pulled the painting with the dancers free of it’s packing and handed it to the maid. 

The woman nodded curtly and crossed with the serving man who had produced a skein of twine and a few nails. The maid lifted the painting, trying several angles and positions on the wall, looking for Asami’s approval. 

“Whoa! What are you doing?!” Wu’s voice was slightly heated as he came darting back into the sitting room. “You’re throwing off the whole aesthetic!”

The maid and serving man immediately ducked their heads in shame, looking between Asami and Wu in confusion—they were not sure whose orders they should ultimately follow. 

“Look around. What do you see?” Wu asked haughtily, lifting his cane to indicate the warm red woods and plush furniture, the draperies that were light and creamy. 

“This is a room fit for royalty—we can’t have those cheap drawings up on these walls.” Wu scolded.

Anger flared in Asami’s chest, but her father spoke before she could lash out--everything she knew of art, she had learned from her mother. Must she truly leave _all_ memory of her behind?

"Asami, Sweetie, why don’t we pack up the paintings for now. It’s a long journey and if you leave them out you may get tired of them before we make it to America.” Hiroshi tried a more reasonable approach. 

Asami’s lip curled slightly. 

“I could never tire of them father. Look at them—they’re beautiful.” Asami lifted another painting from the crate, one that still sometimes took her breath away if she looked at it long enough. 

“I think they’re fascinating—like something from a dream. There’s truth but no logic.” Asami whispered. 

“Maybe so, but we can’t have those _finger paintings_ out here in the drawing room!” Wu protested with an exasperated pout to his lower lip. “Someone might see!”

Asami looked to her father for help, but Hiroshi Sato was preoccupied with the arrival of the drinks cart—finally, the champagne to put in the empty bucket of ice, to complete the _aesthetic_.

Asami sighed and grudgingly looked to her maid. 

“Alright then, let’s put it in my private room.” Asami instructed the maid. 

The young woman bowed, and then had to push her glasses back up on her nose as she straightened and scurried to obey. The serving man also bowed politely and went to follow, weighing the hammer in one hand.

“Thank goodness!” Wu let out a petulant sigh and flopped down into the nearest armchair. He had yet to remove his scarf. “Now I’ll only have to see it _some_ of the time.” 

Asami's blood went cold at the off-handed comment and she glanced quickly to her father—but Hiroshi was laughing with one of the servants as they showed the engineer the innards of the dumbwaiter system out in the hall. Hiroshi had not heard a word—but Asami honestly couldn’t be sure if her father would have reacted at all, other than to chuckle and move on. 

Asami knew her father wanted this match to work more than anything. Hiroshi wanted to expand his sato-mobile factory. And Wu was so wealthy that in some circles he was affectionately called ‘the Prince’. His endorsement would ensure Hiroshi’s ventures would be lucrative even if they failed. 

But it was more than that. Much more.

There had been rumors in London—gossip really. The kind that would make any _decent_ young lady blush.

And they hadn’t been without truth.

Asami couldn’t be sure if word of her dalliances had reached her father’s ears, but the suddenness of her betrothal and the… _quality_ of the match…the harshness of it all made her suspect that her father hadn’t only heard—but that he’d believed. 

To have a daughter with the intellect of a man, that could be borne—in some circles it could even be cause for pride. 

But to have a daughter who loved as men do—who preferred to woo beautiful young ladies—that was too much. It was cause for shame in _every_ circle. 

Which was, of course, why Asami found herself biting her tongue to accept whatever new tortures came her way—she couldn’t bear the thought that her father was disappointed in her.

It was why she could never admit to how much the prospect of being Wu’s wife disgusted and frightened her. She had almost let herself forget about all of the implied duties that were promised with a ring—to be subservient in company and subservient in private, to share all one’s fortune _and_ one bed. Or rather—she had hoped that she could forget until this journey was behind them. She had thought she wouldn’t really have to face it until they reached America and the wedding loomed near. 

But such a thing would have been something of a kindness, and Asami’s world seemed to have run out of kindnesses around the time her mother had passed.

A marriage to Wu, the latest in a long line of famous, wealthy, not-too-bright men on the thinnest branches of a royal family tree—it would put a silence to the rumors. If Asami married ‘The Prince’, then Hiroshi could buy back his family’s pride. Money could buy respect. Every past indiscretion would be forgotten—maybe even forgiven. 

Asami shivered and glanced again to the painting with an obscure ‘Picasso’ penned in the bottom corner. It was almost surreal, like a blueprint that had been cut into pieces and rearranged. The original machine was somehow lost, but the pieces were there to make something else entirely. Asami loved staring at it. 

She wished she could see more in it than her own confusion.


	5. Cherbourg

Mako didn’t get a chance to visit Bolin and Korra again until they put into Cherbourg and the “Black Gang” was given a much needed break. 

Mako had learned very quickly that a shirt was a burden when one was shoveling coal. The coal dust had coated his torso so thickly that he hadn’t been able to move his arms at all, the coal dust and sweat on his arms had weighed so heavily, every motion had set his crusted up shirt chaffing against his dry and irritated skin. It had slowed him down and earned him about a dozen knocks in the head from his boss. 

So Mako had ditched his shirt and hadn’t bothered to replace it. 

He felt several eyes on him as he wandered the halls of the _Titanic_ in search of his brother and friend. He tried to avoid the main walk ways, and stuck to the second class stairways. Mako made his way up to C deck and then B deck, he had to jump back out of the way of several porters scurrying under the burden of new luggage from the fresh arrivals. 

Mako poked his head curiously around the corner to see a very large party coming in on the gangway. A woman of proud stature led the way. Mako’s jaw dropped when he saw her. She was dressed in a finely pressed suit—Mako had never seen any girl other than Korra dress in pants before. This woman had grey hair and two scars on her right cheek, but she was both beautiful and terrifying. 

“Where have you been? My sister and I have been waiting to board for over half an hour.” The woman explained in a gruff voice as she hefted her bags. The porter looked ruffled and he tugged at his uniform buttons as he stammered under the woman’s steely stare. 

“Lin, it’s alright. Let the poor man do his job.” A woman who looked strikingly similar to the first said calmly. She was dressed in a very fashionable dress, and she wore a quaint tiara on her head inset with a green gem. Behind her trailed a horde of well-dressed young men and a young girl who couldn’t be any older than Mako himself. 

“Mother! There you are! And Aunt Lin, I hope they’re taking care of you.” A voice called. 

Mako turned his head and then shrunk back even further in the shadows. Even though he had his employment papers stuffed carefully in his shoe, he still felt the need to hide around officers and most other uniformed men. It was a habit he’d picked up on the streets. 

Mako didn’t wait to hear any more. Once the young officer in his dashing uniform appeared on the scene to escort his family personally aboard the _Titanic,_ Mako made a mad dash for the nearest stairwell. 

He didn’t stop until he burst out onto the well deck. 

The relief to Mako’s feverish skin was immediate. 

Working in front of the boilers left him fatigued, of course, but worse than the aching muscles was the dry skin that cracked and bled. First at his lips and then his hands. The ocean spray on his bare chest seemed the perfect balm. 

Mako let his head fall back to enjoy it. He didn’t even mind the chill. 

Mako found Bolin and Korra lounging out on the poop deck. There were dozens of other passengers out as well, a few lining the rails to get a peek of Cherbourg, but others were just enjoying the sunshine. 

Mako stopped in his tracks and took a moment to breathe and appreciate how lucky he was to be on this ship, headed to a land full of opportunity, with the people he cared about most in the world. 

“Mako!” Bolin saw his brother first and waved, a grin brightening his face. 

Before Mako could call back, there was a bark nearby and Mako was knocked over by the full force of Korra’s giant dog Naga. 

“Oh Naga! Whoa! It’s good to see you too.” Mako grunted as he was snuffled and licked. “Naga, wait—eww, gross, you’re licking my mouth, you monster!”

Korra had always said Naga was part Alaskan husky, part timber wolf. But Mako would have more readily believed that the giant white animal was part polar bear. She was huge. And seemed to delight in driving Mako crazy. Just like her owner.

There were giggles nearby. 

Three young children who had been playing with Naga ran up to Mako.

“She really likes you.” The oldest girl said sweetly.

“Yeah, she really likes giving hugs and kisses.” The second girl giggled behind her hand. 

“She is just the greatest dog ever.” The young boy exclaimed as he shot forward to rub at Naga’s sides even while Naga was still pinning Mako down. 

“Ikki! Jinora! Meelo! Leave the young man be!” The children’s mother called from nearby.

Immediately, the oldest child looked penitent and turned away. Her dress was the color of saffron, but she wore a red scarf over her head. The other children were dressed in similar colors, as if their mother had sewn their outfits from the same cloth. 

“Oh, don’t worry—it’s alright.” Korra called with a wave as she too came to grin down at Mako. 

“Korra—will you get your giant, bloody dog off me?” Mako demanded, his Irish accent slipping through for the first time in what felt like years. 

Korra laughed and scratched at Naga’s ears. 

“Well, since you asked so nicely—do you guys wanna see Naga do a trick?” Korra asked the children conspiratorially. 

“What? Korra, no!” Mako cried even as the two kids nodded their heads eagerly. 

Korra laughed and lifted her fingers to her mouth. She whistled once and Naga’s ears pricked. 

“Naga! Rescue!” Korra shouted. 

Mako let out an indignant groan as he was flipped up by the ankle onto Naga’s back. The dog then proceeded to bark like mad and run around the deck, much to the enjoyment of the boy and girl who followed close behind, laughing and clapping. Their older sister watched from afar, amusement plain in her dark, almond shaped eyes, but she refrained from chasing after the dog.

“Korra! Korra, come on! This isn’t funny!” Mako called, holding on for dear life. 

“Alright, alright—Naga, stop.” Korra commanded. 

Naga obeyed and Mako slid down from the fluffy mountain, breathing heavily. 

“That was amazing!” The girl called Ikki clapped her hands together, her pigtails quivering as she jerked and jumped.

“Can we ride Naga too? Please?” Her brother, Meelo, begged. 

“I don’t see why not.” Korra laughed. She helped the two kids up onto Naga’s back, there would have been plenty of room for three. She stroked Naga’s snout and kissed her nose. 

“Go easy.” Korra whispered. 

Naga huffed, but took off at a much slower pace when Korra whistled a second time. Korra watched the kids’ progress for a moment and then went to Mako who was leaning heavily against Bolin and holding his side. He glared at Korra. 

“I think you owe me lunch.” Mako growled. 

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad.” Korra rolled her eyes at Mako’s dramatics. 

“I can’t feel my feet.” Mako argued. 

“Hey! Why don’t we jes’t go over here?” Bolin suggested as he practically dragged Mako over to the closest bench. He shot Korra a pleading look over his brother’s head and Korra huffed as she came to sit beside them both. 

“It’s really good t’ see ya, brother.” Bolin said brightly as he helped Mako sit down. 

“Yeah. Swell.” Korra offered. 

Mako just humphed. 

“So—how is it down wi’ the boilers?” Bolin asked hesitantly.

“Terrible. They work us like dogs.” Mako said as he stretched his torso a bit tentatively before finally sitting up straight once he realized the pain was gone. It still hurt to breathe deeply, but Mako couldn’t be sure if it was from his impromptu Naga ride or from breathing in so much coal dust. 

“Well, hey—look, it’s not caviar but…” Bolin dug around in his pockets and produced the most beautiful fruit Mako had ever seen. 

“Thanks, Bo.” Mako’s eyes gleamed as he accepted the apple and grapes. He stuffed several of the purple grapes into his mouth and groaned as the juices slid over his tongue. 

Korra waited quietly for an opening and then offered Mako her water skin as a kind of peace offering. Mako accepted it gratefully and took a long drink—he felt he could drink up an entire ocean and still taste coal. 

“Have you drawn anything new?” Mako asked, nudging Korra with his knee.

Korra had been watching Meelo and Ikki playing with Naga. Grown tired of riding in steady, slow circles, Meelo and Ikki had slid off of their white steed and were now tossing bits of rope around for the dog to fetch back to them. 

“Oh, well—I was going to draw him.” Korra pointed up to boat deck, but Mako couldn’t see anyone. 

“There was a fancy guy with the greatest double chin you’ve ever seen, Mako, but he went inside. So I started sketching Tenzin over there…” Korra admitted as Mako took her sketchbook from her and glanced over the rough sketch she’d done of a very tall bald man and at least half a child on his shoulders—Korra had yet to draw Meelo’s head and shoulders. 

“But I got a little distracted when you came up and I sort of sicked my dog on you.” Korra chuckled. 

“Nice.” Mako praised. He yawned and stretched a little. He leaned his head back to feel more of the sun. 

“Jes’ think—soon we’ll be out on t’ open ocean!” Bolin cut into the silence excitedly. “How soon do ya think until we can see the Statue of Liberty?” 

Mako and Korra both laughed.

“It’s over three thousand miles, Bo. That’s at least a week of sailing.” Mako explained.

“Besides, we still have to stop at Queenstown.” Korra added with a shrug of her shoulders. 

Bolin’s face immediately fell. “Ah, my aulde country.”

Mako slid his arm around his brother’s broad shoulders. “America’s our country now, brother.”

Mako’s words were interrupted by quick footsteps on the dock. 

Mako, Bolin, and Korra all three glanced up as a young boy came sprinting toward them. 

“There you are!” The boy shouted, skidding to a halt in front of Mako. The boy had dark, black coal dust staining his cheeks and his hair fell into his eyes.

“What is it, Skoochy?” Mako sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Need you back—we’re about to start up.” The boy panted. 

Mako sighed and rubbed at his neck. 

“I gotta go.” 

“Ah, so soon?” Bolin pouted. 

“I’ll see you later.” Mako shrugged as he waved. 

“Mako, wait!” Korra ran across the deck and grabbed Mako’s arm. 

Mako stiffened, but halted. 

“Here—take another drink before you go.” Korra said quietly. She proffered her water skin. 

"I don’t—” Mako tried to protest—he felt he’d already taken enough. In fact, he’d had to stop himself from drinking every last drop the first time. 

“It’s alright. I can fill it up whenever, take some.” Korra insisted. 

“Come on!” The page boy called. 

Mako sighed and relented. He drank the last of Korra’s water and swiped at his mouth when he was done. 

“Thanks, Korra.”

“We’ll see you soon.” Korra said with a smile. 

Mako nodded and turned to go back down the stairs—he already missed the sun.


	6. All Ahead Full

11 April 1912

As wonderfully clean and incredibly spacious as Korra’s accommodations were—everything was so white and she and Bolin each had their own bed in their Steerage compartment! Which was more than she’d had on other ships she’d traveled on—Korra found herself out on the forward decks quite often. 

There was just something about the ocean air that made Korra feel alive. And free. 

And it also gave her ample opportunity to draw the other passengers. The little family she’d met that first day, Tenzin and Pema and their adorable kids were favorites. And there were others too, old and young, rich and poor—Korra saw them all. And she wore down about five of her pencils to nubs as she hurried to draw them with eager hands. 

But on this afternoon, Korra left her sketchbook on her bunk and let Bolin drag her out into the sunshine to wave goodbye to Europe one last time. Bolin ran along the railing, waving his cap excitedly as he cursed the receding Irish coast. Korra laughed as she ran behind him, her heart still so light she might as well be flying.

For the _Titanic_ had passed every inspection with flying colors and was finally turning her bow to New York City.

On the bridge, the reputedly hard-to-please captain stood very still at the binnacle, arms crossed sharply behind her back. As the afternoon sun set the horizon sparkling like glass, Kuvira’s lips twitched into a rare smile and she turned to her Frist Officer Bataar Jr. 

“Let’s take her to sea, Bataar. She’s ready.” Kuvira said with obvious pride. 

Bataar nodded curtly, his glasses tipping down his nose ever so slightly. He hurried over to the engine telegraph lever and pulled it with effort over to the last setting—‘All Ahead Full’.

All over the ship, the order was relayed, from the engine room to the deepest bowels of the ship where Mako was working hard to stoke his boiler. He glanced up along with everyone else in the ‘Black Gang’ when the bell was heard and the boss appeared on the catwalk with a stony expression. 

“You all know what that means—All Ahead Full, boys! All Ahead Full, and put yer backs into it!”

Mako barely had time to swipe the sweat from his brow before his boiler flared dangerously, a sign that his partner on the other side was hard at work. Mako threw himself into the rhythm, his muscles straining under the heat from the fires as he worked to become a part of the machinery around him—to strain and lift and rake and toss and strain in tandem with his partner. 

Usually there was chanting in the boiler rooms, the stokers all singing together, but not this time—not when everyone was panting and grunting and huffing as they tried to keep up. 

The giant ship needed every ounce of coal they could spare to get the engines really pumping. 

Korra and Bolin couldn’t feel the strain from their position, out on the prow. To them, the transition was smooth, as natural as the changing of the tide or the turning of the winds. Korra leaned far over the prow rail to look down over fifty feet to where the mighty prow cut through the surface of the water like a knife. Her eyes widened as she watched the water fly up in heavy sheets, it was like an endless game, the water always dancing away, but the ship just wouldn’t let up. 

In fact, the ship was getting faster, picking up speed. 

The wind almost took Bolin’s cap and he reached up with a laugh to clamp it back down on his head. 

“Korra!” A chorus of cheery voices called.

Korra spun around and grinned when she saw Tenzin’s children running along the deck toward her. Their father came along too with his brother, a Naval man named Bumi. 

“Korra! Did you feel that? We’re going so fast!” Ikki called breathlessly as she ran up to her new friend with her brother and sister. Her dark brown pigtails had been re-braided today and were tighter, not so loose. 

“Yep, I’d say we’re making twenty-one knots at least.” Bumi said with a grin as he leaned against the rail. 

“Is that good?” Bolin asked, glancing back toward the cliffs of Ireland one final time—they were so distant now he couldn’t even see the green of the kells. 

“Aye,” Bumi chuckled, “That’s pretty good for a steamer of this size.” 

“Daddy, look!” Jinora suddenly squealed. 

The entire party moved to the rail to look out to where Jinora was pointing. Tenzin stepped up protectively behind his eldest daughter and Korra instinctively did the same behind Ikki, putting her body firmly as a windbreak behind the young girl. Bolin stood next to Korra, his mouth hanging open as they stared down at two dolphins who had appeared—first just their dorsal fins, but then more vividly as they leapt from the waves as if from pure exultation. They were sleek and so deeply blue that they looked grey and sparkling in the sun. 

“I can’t see! I can’t see!” Meelo complained from behind Bolin. 

“Well, here then, up you get, little rascal.” Bumi drawled with a deep-bellied chuckle. He lifted Meelo up onto Bolin’s shoulders. 

Bolin didn’t mind, he reached up to hold Meelo’s legs more securely to his body and glanced up. The bald boy had lifted his hand up to shield his shale-grey eyes as he gazed out at the horizon. 

“Wow! I can see forever!” Meelo proclaimed. 

“Be careful, son.” Tenzin cautioned.

“I can see the Statue of Liberty already!” Meelo shouted in excitement.

“Hey, that’s what I said!” Bolin laughed. 

The adults all chuckled and Ikki giggled. 

Jinora rolled her eyes.

“The Statue of Liberty is too far away to see yet, Meelo. There’s nothing out there but ocean.” Jinora schooled her brother.

“Korra, can you lift me up too?” Ikki asked, her eyes pleading. “I want to see the Statue of Liberty.”

Korra could only glance sheepishly at Tenzin who sighed and nodded with a smile. 

Korra gingerly lifted Ikki up onto her shoulders, much to the girl’s delight. She laughed and gripped Korra tightly. 

“Oh wow! Daddy! Uncle Bumi—it’s like flying!” Ikki giggled. 

Jinora rolled her eyes and turned her head away, but let out a gasp of surprise when she felt herself also being lifted into the air. 

“Don’t think we were gonna leave you out.” Bumi winked at his niece as he situated her up on his shoulders. Jinora instinctively clasped her knees together around her uncle’s head, afraid of tottering over, but her father put a reassuring hand on her back. Slowly Jinora felt secure enough to lift her eyes to the horizon. She let out a gasp and shivered against the chill of the headwinds and her red kerchief was blown back from her face, though the knot her mother had tied remained secure—it really did feel like flying. 

“Well—go on, Jinora. What do you see?” Meelo asked with a scowl. He was clearly not fond of having his thunder stolen by his sisters.

Jinora took a deep breath. 

She was generally a quiet girl. Studious and level-headed. Of all of Tenzin’s children, it was Jinora who took after him the most. 

But as she sat up on Bumi’s shoulders, with her brother and sister bobbing at equally impossible heights on the bow of the Ship of Dreams, Jinora couldn’t help but give in to the flutterings of her heart. She laughed loudly and hugged herself tightly. There were tears in her eyes—both from the sting of the strong wind and from a joy inside she could barely contain. 

“I see the Statue of Liberty too!” Jinora shouted. “It’s very small of course, but it’s there.”

“See! I told you!” Meelo crowed.

“Oh, she’s so beautiful!” Ikki added. 

“Hey, Jinora—try opening your arms out like this.” Bolin suggested. He held onto Meelo’s foot with his right hand, but demonstrated lopsidedly with his left arm, throwing it out like a chicken’s wing. 

Jinora giggled and threw her arms wide. 

“Daddy, look!” 

“Korra, don’t let go!” Ikki squealed as she followed suit. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Korra promised.

Meelo threw his arms open as well and made zooming noises, the grin on his face one of pure bliss. 

Korra laughed and caught Bolin’s eye. 

“How’re you feeling, Bo?” Korra asked over the wonderful sound of the kids laughing and playing. 

“I dunno’, I feel—I guess I feel like I’m on top o’ the world.” Bolin laughed.

Korra nodded, tears in her eyes. She had found Bolin and Mako when they’d all been down on their luck—crushed by the weight of the world, as Mako had often sullenly said. But now they really were leaving it all behind them. There was nothing but possibilities ahead of them. 

“I’m the king of the world!” Meelo took up Bolin’s call and made it his own. 

“Me too! I’m the king of the world!” Ikki echoed, clapping her hands. 

“ _Queen_ , Ikki. I think you mean ‘queen’ of the world.” Jinora corrected, but she was still smiling. They were all still smiling. 

Korra thought again of how lucky she was—once again she felt as if everything had aligned just right. She wasn’t sure it could possibly get any better than this.


	7. A Stifling Lunch

Asami felt her happiness falling further and further behind her the further out to sea the _Titanic_ sailed. They’d only just turned away from Ireland and Asami caught herself trying to calculate how far she could swim back before inevitably drowning. She was a strong swimmer. But even she knew that eventually the Irish waves would wear her down. Still, such a fate seemed almost pleasant compared to _this_. 

It wasn’t that Asami was being treated poorly. 

No, her rooms were immaculate, and she was waited upon with civility and promptness. She was surrounded by a small army of ‘yes, ma’am’s and ‘no, miss’s. It was all cordial and impersonal and Asami still felt trapped. 

The food was exquisite, but Asami only picked at it listlessly. The company had initially set Asami’s heart racing—she had so looked forward to this luncheon where she could meet some of the brilliant minds behind the _Titanic_ , like Mr. Varrick the shipbuilder and Mr. Raiko, the president of the White Star Line, but once she’d been properly shown off like a prize heifer, she’d been seated away from the main table.

Asami found herself sitting next to a girl several years her junior, a little slip of a thing who simply fawned and gushed over Asami’s engagement ring. 

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.” The girl, Opal, exclaimed. She had very round, almost Kelly green eyes. 

Asami forced a terse smile and kept her own eyes down. 

Her heart was shriveling up in her chest. She could hear snippets of conversation from the head table where her father was laughing with Mr. Varrick—it seemed the conversation was not the mechanical discussion Asami had hoped for at all. The powerful men seemed to be more concerned with stroking egos and lathering each other up with empty flattery. 

“…because you see, it was Varrick here, our resident genius, who designed her so beautifully from the keel up.” Someone was saying.

“Oh no, really—you give me _far_ too much credit, Suyin. It was really President Raiko here who thought up the whole thing. He imagined a ship so grand in scale and so luxurious that people would pay through the nose just to sweat in her shadow!” Mr. Varrick chuckled back amid uproarious laughter.

Asami stopped listening after that. She was getting a headache as it was. She could feel the pressure building, could feel each and every pin that held her ridiculous yellow hat in place. For once Asami wished she could just let her hair down and breathe. 

“Oh, here’s our food.” Opal exclaimed brightly, smoothing out the minute crinkles that had formed in the silky napkin in her lap. 

Asami tried to absorb some of the girl’s excitement, but the corners of her mouth turned down when the waiter placed her plate before her.

“I’m sorry—what is this?” Asami asked, lifting her eyes to the waiter. 

“It’s lamb, Miss. Lamb cooked rare with a tint of mint sauce—not too much, Mr. Wu was adamant that you both only wanted a little of the mint sauce. Is it not satisfactory, Miss?” The waiter asked. 

Opal looked a little nervous as she poked her golden fork at the pea tendrils on the side of her plate. She tried not to stare, but she stole peeks at Asami who looked so regal and calm and yet—so terribly sad. 

“He changed my order.” Asami said stiffly. 

“Would you like me to take it away, Miss?” The waiter asked with a glance over his shoulder toward one of his companions for help.

“No—no, that’s alright.” Asami said with a wave of her hand. She sat up straighter in her chair and took up her fork, forcing a smile. “I’m sure the lamb is delicious, thank you.” 

The waiter bowed and stepped away. 

“You can have some of my kale, if you want.” Opal whispered. 

Asami tried to smile but she couldn’t find the energy. She couldn’t help but wonder if it would always be like this—would she ever get to choose her own meal again? Would she be expected to defer to her husband for everything? What to eat, what to wear, what to say—what to _think_?

Behind her, she heard Wu’s laughter and it grated against her nerves more than she was used to. Asami’s spine stiffened and she dug into her purse for her cigarette case. She had never _needed_ one quite so desperately—she needed it to calm her. 

Opal’s eyes widened and she took a sharp breath as Asami, the woman she’d been told was the epitome of high society, drew out a cigarette and stuck it squarely between her teeth before she dove back into her purse to search for her lighter. 

When she found her lighter, Asami reached up in one swift movement and lit the thin cigarette without even blinking.

“Wow.” Opal breathed. She’d never seen anything quite so elegant or graceful before. 

“Your father lets you smoke?” Opal asked with wide eyes. 

Asami was startled by the question. Instinctively, her eyes found her father across the room and she immediately wished she hadn’t. The look on his face was one that cut Asami to the core. The candlelight flashed in Hirosh’s quarter moon spectacles—but Asami didn’t need to see into his brown eyes to see the shame there. The hurt.

She could see it in the tremble of his chin when her father shook his head ever so subtly— _oh, my little princess, how could you do this to me?_ He seemed to ask. 

Asami suddenly felt nauseous. 

“I’m sorry, I—” Asami plucked the cigarette from her teeth and without thinking put it in Opal’s hands while she went about reaching down to lift her skirts away so she could push her chair back. “I need some air.”

Opal’s eyes widened and she tried to protest, but Asami was already on her feet and walking away briskly. 

“What’s that smell?” Lin Beifong demanded from across the room. She had the nose of a bloodhound and her green eyes zeroed in on her niece and the smoking cigarette in her hands. 

“Opal?!” Lin and Su both said at the same moment. 

Opal squeaked and dropped the cigarette onto Asami’s plate—right into the little dab of mint sauce. It was enough to snuff it out.

“Is everything alright, Opal?” Su’s husband, Bataar Sr. called in concern. 

“I—”

"Where’s Asami?” Wu asked, suddenly realizing that his fiancé was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, ah—she stepped outside to get some air.” Opal stammered. 

“What? Oh—drat! It was the lamb, wasn’t it! I should have remembered that she hates lamb!” Wu groaned, bringing his palm up to his forehead as if appalled with himself. 

“Or you could have just let her order for herself.” Lin said dryly.

“Lin!” Su scolded, swatting her sister’s arm with her napkin. 

“Young women these days are far too independent.” Mr. Raiko observed. 

“My thoughts exactly, Mr. President! Exactly! You took the words right out of my mouth!” Varrick shouted excitedly. He even leaned across the table to wrap an arm around the president’s shoulders—hardly noting that he tipped over the salt shaker as he did so. 

Without cracking a smile, Lin Beifong reached out to set it back upright. 

"It’s young, independent women who are ruining the industry! Soon they’ll be getting ideas and putting them up on the market—they’ll start breaking the monopoly! And it all starts with ordering their own dinner, so watch out, my young prince—watch out!” Varrick said forcefully, his thin mustaches quivering as he pointed to Wu. 

“Hear, hear!” Another grey haired man at the table agreed. 

Hiroshi Sato stared down forlornly at his plate and said nothing. 

"And what industry exactly are these young women breaking?” Lin Beifong asked, her lips hardly moving. 

“Why all of them!” Varrick supplied, opening his arms wide. 

“Including shipbuilding?” Lin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Lin!” Su hissed again, kicking her sister this time under the table.

“What? I only want to know if Varrick here truly believes letting men control every aspect of the industry is for the best—I personally think a woman could have at least come up with a better name than ‘ _Titanic_ ’.” Lin explained with a shrug. 

“A better name?” Varrick gasped. 

“There _is_ no better name.” Mr. Raiko said firmly, his eyes blazing slightly. “I came up with it myself. It conveys the sheer size of the vessel, which of course in turn conveys a sense of stability and above all strength…” 

Lin rolled her eyes, but this time it was Su who seemed to have been riled enough to take a stand.

“Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Raiko?” 

The half-hearted murmurings around the table ceased and all eyes turned to Suyin. 

“Doctor who?” Mr. Raiko tilted his head in Su’s direction.

“Freud.” Su said evenly. “I believe his ideas about the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.” 

There were several guffaws around the table and Bataar Sr.’s hand slipped as he was cutting into his lamb, sending several peas flying across the table. Lin smirked into her champagne glass. 

Opal, for her part, had watched this entire exchange with growing dread. But the seething remarks of her aunt and mother had been the final straw. Opal stood and tossed her napkin down into her chair as quickly as she could.

“I’m going to check on Asami—please forgive me.” Opal turned and ran without waiting to see if anyone marked her. She was starting to think she understood why Society’s darling Asami Sato needed to get fresh air—the dining room was stifling. 


	8. First Glimpse of an Angel

The atmosphere out on decks was still light and carefree, even after the initial excitement had worn down and the children realized the horizon just kept stretching and stretching—never coming any closer. 

Korra was busy drawing Tenzin and Jinora now. 

She’d finished her earlier sketch of Meelo on his father’s shoulders, and now she focused on the protective curve of Tenzin’s arm as he pointed to something on the horizon, on Jinora’s wide, almond shaped eyes taking in the scene—seagulls maybe. Or perhaps another dolphin. 

Bolin had taken off his cap and was trying to teach Ikki and Meelo an Irish stepdance. Every so often, Korra chanced a glance in his direction and couldn’t help a grin from splitting her face. For someone who professed to hate Ireland so much, Korra had never met anyone of greener, prouder Irish blood. 

Ikki was following Bolin’s movements as carefully as she could, but Meelo—oh, Meelo. Korra shook her head and tried to conceal a laugh. The boy had his tongue stuck out between his teeth in concentration, but he kept stomping on his own feet. His clothes were all a little too large for him, his very large pants held up by a thick belt and his red and yellow shirt sleeves that Pema had rolled back with such care continually unraveled, and Meelo’s hands simply got lost to yards and yards of fabric.

Korra tipped her head back to soak in the sun and she rolled her neck from side to side. She turned her head, content in every possible way—until her eyes landed on a woman up on the B deck promenade, it was then that Korra felt everything inside of her fall out of alignment, _violently_. 

Her stomach dropped.

Her heart stuttered and leapt. 

And her throat clenched, refusing to let her breathe. 

The pencil she’d been holding slipped from her fingers and clattered to the deck. 

Korra stared.

Her first thought was _beautiful_. 

The woman she saw was tall and lithe, and so, so _beautiful_. Perfectly so. And Korra’s initial reaction was to think of her as striking, an imposing sort of cut to her sharp features, pale skin contrasted so beautifully with her dark hair—but Korra also felt that was an impossible restriction to put on someone who looked so soft. 

Because she looked _soft_. As if the marble she’d been carved from were actually the whitest of clouds in disguise.

And that was one of the reasons Korra couldn’t look away—the woman was a conundrum, even from this distance. Every initial observation that Korra made was almost immediately refuted or re-defined, evolved—it was impossible to pin her down. And Korra was intrigued. 

_Who is she?_

The mystery woman was standing up on the first class promenade, so Korra would have expected to see a snobbish up-tilt of the head, a prissy sashay of the hips—but Korra didn’t see any of that. All she saw was elegance in the strength of the woman’s posture, and a terrible solemnity to the way she bowed her head under the sun.

It was such a contrast to what Korra had witnessed less than an hour ago—the three children laughing in the wind with their heads held high and their arms thrown open to embrace whatever may come—this woman’s body language had none of that freedom. Her shoulders were curved forward as if to make herself small, her head bowed down as if that hat on her head were a crown too heavy to bear—

_She’s weighed down_ , Korra thought suddenly. _She’s trapped._

Korra’s heart ached for the woman. She itched to draw her—to put her to paper—but she couldn’t move—couldn’t trap her further. 

Korra couldn’t look away and run the risk of missing something. Something important.

As she watched, the woman suddenly reached up. Not petulantly, but deliberately, and yanked her yellow hat away from her head. 

Korra’s heart stuttered again when she saw several curls tumble free—Korra never could have guessed from the intricate way the woman’s hair was done up that her tresses could reach well past her shoulders, but now she could see for herself. The woman had silky, long black hair—possibly even longer than Korra’s had been before she’d cut it. 

Korra watched with baited breath as the woman stared down at the hat in her hands. Her hair was now flying about in the wind, making it impossible for Korra to see the sharp edges of the woman’s jaw or the little curve of her ear—but Korra didn’t care, because as she stared, the woman’s shapely hands caressed the flabby material of the yellow hat. It was so tender, and so contrary to the rough removal of moments before, that Korra took a sharp breath in surprise. 

Then the woman lifted her head and squared her shoulders—it was a startling transformation. Korra could only stare as the woman in pale yellow and shimmering, gossamer blue went to the rail and flung her hat away. 

Korra sucked in her breath and for the first time glanced left and right to see if anyone else had noticed this incredible drama playing out on the B deck promenade—but no one else mattered. No one else could understand even if they’d seen.

_Sad but spirited—she set herself free._

Korra had the urge to call out to the woman—to make herself seen. To let the woman know that that they had shared this moment together, that they had both mourned the loss of the hat, that they had both understood exactly why it had to go. 

But Korra knew that was absurd. The entire well deck stretched between them like a chasm—a very real reminder of the class distinctions between them. It was obvious the tortured soul Korra was watching was a lady, probably a princess or maybe an angel among women, and Korra was just an artist, dirty and poor. She had nothing to offer for safe passage across the divide. 

She would have to be content with looking. But that was something Korra was used to—to being kept back from the things she longed most to touch. 

Korra was just reaching up for the spare pencil she had tucked behind her ear when the woman turned her head.

_Oh spirits, she’s looking at me_ … 

Everything slipped back into alignment when their eyes met—contentment thrummed through Korra’s bones. But this time there was room for more—there was a _need_ for more.

All of the air in Korra’s lungs left her body at once—and this time she didn’t have Bolin to blame. 

“Korra?” Bolin plopped down just then right beside Korra. He was sweaty and exhausted, but grinning from ear to ear. Those kids had worn him out, but he loved entertaining them. 

“What’s wrong with Korra?” Jinora asked as she came closer. She was reaching up to stuff a few stubborn flyaways back up into her scarf. 

“Yeah—how come her face is all weird?” Meelo asked as he crawled up into Bolin’s lap and reached over to wave a hand in front of Korra’s wide, unblinking eyes. 

“Do you think she’s taking a nap?” Ikki asked, clasping her hands together as she leaned forward to observe her friend. 

“I dunno. But if so, that’s a weird way t’ nap.” Bolin said thoughtfully. 

“Oh, well blessed be—the girl’s got that look, she’s far away, looking off into heaven.” Bumi laughed, slapping his knees when he caught sight of the slack-jawed young woman. The expression on her face was so reverent—so anxious and pleased all at once.

“What? No way.” Bolin frowned and glanced up. When Bumi continued to laugh, Bolin leaned over toward Korra and tilted his head, trying to see what she was seeing—it was only then that Bolin noticed the woman up on the promenade—the dark haired woman who kept looking away from Korra and then looking back. 

_I’m here_ , Korra kept thinking. _I haven’t gone away, I’m here. Look at me, I’m right here. I’m with you. I’m still here. Please don’t go._

Her heart was racing. And every breathless time the woman looked away—Korra feared it would stop for good.

“Oh no…” Bolin whispered, his eyes widening. “Oh, no, Korra—it’s impossible. Don’cha _even_ think about it, love.” 

“Think about what?” Meelo queried, frowning.

“Is Korra looking up at that pretty lady?” Ikki asked loudly. 

“Lookin’ and dreamin’ more like.” Bumi chuckled as he came a little closer to the group of young ones. “But you’d best forget about it. You’d more likely have angels fly outta your arse than get next to the likes of someone like her.” 

All three of the young children gasped. Bolin gasped too. Korra finally seemed to come back a little to herself—at least enough to blush.

“Uncle Bumi said arse!” Ikki squeaked in astonishment. 

“Uncle Bumi said a curse!” Meelo shouted gleefully. 

"What’s going on over here?” Tenzin demanded, coming away from a conversation he had been having with another passenger. 

“Uncle Bumi said a curse!” Meelo announced again.

“Bumi!” Tenzin scolded, his face turning as red as beets. “How many times do I have to tell you—”

“Ah, Tenzin, I was just—”

“Just nothing! I’ve told you a thousand times to watch that sailor’s tongue of yours around my children and I won’t have…”

The two brothers continued to bicker, but Korra had turned her attention back up to the promenade, but this time Bolin tried to preemptively shake her out of her daze.

“Korra, no—” Bolin whispered, gripping her arm tightly.

“She looked at me, Bo.” Korra said excitedly. Her cheeks were still pink and her blue eyes were wide. “It was just for a moment, but I felt it—she looked _right at me_.”

“How romantic!” Ikki squealed, clasping her hands over her heart.

“No, no—yore daft, woman. She looked right _through_ ya’ tha’s what happened.” Bolin tried to reason with his friend and shook his head exaggeratedly at the young audience around them.

“No, Bolin, I swear she looked right at me. She _saw_ me.” Korra insisted stubbornly. 

“Now maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. But even if’n she did, what exactly do ya think she saw, Korra, my girl? She’d a seen a poor girl in dirty clothes lookin’ like yer every day Jack Tar and sittin’ right next to her the most gorgeous Irish warmblood t’ ever walk ter streets o’…” Bolin’s words died on his tongue as he too felt everything within him fall out of alignment. 

Up on the promenade, Korra’s mystery woman had been joined by another equally stunning young lady, and Bolin’s face flushed as he looked up at her. 

Korra’s lips quirked into a knowing smirk and she clapped Bolin squarely on the back. 

"You were saying, my fine fellow?” 

“She—ohmightyRaavaandspiritsoftheheavenlykells—I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” Korra asked. 

“Can’t.” Bolin stammered and pointed to his throat. “Can’t. Breathe.” 

“It’s alright, Bolin. Just try to stay calm.” Jinora coached patiently as she stepped into Bolin’s line of sight and took his cheeks in her hands. To his credit, the Irish lad did try to do as she’d instructed, but when his green eyes wandered back up to the slight young woman in the pink dress with ribbons down her back…he lost his rhythm all over again. 

“Not so easy to deny when it’s happening to you now, is it?” Korra demanded haughtily. She was sitting on the edge of her seat—her eyes wide as she watched a man appear out on the promenade. The woman with short brown hair curled around her temples walked away, leaving Korra’s mystery woman alone to deal with the man who grabbed her arm and spoke roughly to her. 

“Bloody hell—I’ve got ta meet her.” Bolin sighed dreamily, his eyes still trained on the young woman who had caught his eye. Her face was shaped like a heart and every move she made seemed graceful. 

“And how exactly do you plan to do that when they’re way up there and we’re way down here?” Korra asked a little tightly. Her heart was in her throat as she watched the mystery woman and the mystery man. They were arguing, but from this distance Korra couldn’t make out what they were saying. She could only see the way the man gripped the woman’s arm and the way the woman flinched away. 

_Fight._ Korra wanted to scream. _Get away!_

Bolin seemed to deflate as Korra’s words sunk in and he heaved a great sigh. 

“You’re right.”

“No, no, no! You can’t give up!” Ikki stamped her foot in frustration, startling both Bolin and Korra. “Love is the most powerful thing in the universe!”

“Gee, thanks Ikki, but—” Korra started, her eyes traveling back up to the mystery woman. Her heart settled back in her chest once she saw that the woman was storming away.

_She got away._

“Wow, do ya really think so?” Bolin was oblivious. He leaned forward, elbows propped up on his knees, as he looked to Ikki for more encouragement.

“Yes.” Ikki insisted seriously. “The best way to win her heart is to brew a love potion of rainbows and sunsets that makes true lovers sprout wings so they can fly to a magical castle in the sky where they get married and eat clouds with spoons, and use stars as ice cubes in their moonlight punch, forever and ever and ever!” 

Bolin and Korra exchanged glances. 

“Well—I must say tha’, all o’ tha’ sounds lovely, Ikki, but I anticipate one or two problems wi’ that plan.” Bolin said slowly. 

“Like what?” Ikki demanded, her lower lip protruding in a pout. 

“Ah, well—mostly ta eatin’ the clouds part—everythin’ else was spot on.” Bolin said quickly. 

Jinora had been listening to her sister’s absurdities thus far with feigned tolerance, but at Bolin’s indulgence, she rolled her eyes and huffed loud enough to get the others’ attention. 

“Oh please, that’s just from a silly fairytale, Ikki. This is real life.” Jinora sniffed with an air of superiority. 

“So, what do you think we should do?” Korra asked, her wide blue eyes sparkling with both amusement and a quiet form of desperation. She kept glancing back up to the promenade, wishing that the beautiful woman would reappear. Her chest ached for it. 

“Well, I recently read a historical saga about a heroine from China who fell in love with a prince from an enemy clan. She was a commoner, so she had about as much chance as you do with the first class lady.” Jinora pointed out. 

“Oooh! Wonderful! What did she do, lass?” Bolin asked, his eyes wide with hope.

“Well…” Jinora cupped her chin thoughtfully as she tried to remember the details. “The two clans were at war and the prince was supposed to marry some princess, so the heroine rode her dragon into battle and burned down the whole country. Then she flew right into a volcano. It was so romantic.” 

“Oh, isn’t that…nice.” Korra frowned. 

“Yep—I think I like ta one where we live happily ever af’ter better.” Bolin whispered not so subtly to Korra. 

Ikki giggled and clasped her hands behind her back, basking in the novelty of being right for once. Jinora huffed and turned her head away. Meelo rolled his eyes. 

“You guys are weird.” Meelo decided, picking absently at his nose. 

“Oh yeah? Well what would you have us do, Meelo?” Korra asked the young boy with a light chuckle. 

“Just wait until we get to America—my mom says everyone can follow their dreams in America.” Meelo shrugged. 

“The lad’s right!” Bolin beamed, leaping to his feet to doff his cap dramatically to Meelo. Bolin bowed low, making Ikki and Jinora both giggle, and then he carefully placed his cap on Meelo’s head. The young boy looked startled at first, but then he hardened his face into an air of what he believed to be royal aloofness and lifted his hand as if putting on airs. 

“Bow to me!” Meelo commanded of his sisters. “In America, I’m gonna be king!”

Bolin and Korra both laughed while the girls let out indignant squeals and immediately started arguing with their little brother about his prospects of becoming royalty in America—where there was no king. 

“Anything can ‘appen in America, right Korra?” Bolin asked, nudging Korra’s shoulder. 

Korra shot her friend a grin and nodded. 

“I certainly hope so.”


	9. Daddy's Little Princess

Asami felt light-headed. And this time she couldn’t _just_ blame the stuffiness of the room. It was something else. Being out in the brisk ocean air had helped relieve her headache and uncoil some of the tightness in her chest—but she’d also had her breath stolen away. 

And she hadn’t yet recovered. 

“I’m sorry, Miss—is that too tight?” Asami’s maid, Zhu Li, asked. She was currently outfitting Miss Sato for dinner and had obliged to loosen the young woman’s corset, but the lady was still quite pale—and her heart was beating so fast. 

“No, no—don’t mind me, Zhu Li. Please keep going.” Asami murmured. She closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the bedpost, trying to ignore the pressure that was increased over and over again as Zhu Li pulled the corset strings tight to cinch in her waist. It was a numbing kind of pain, one that Asami barely registered anymore. 

Still, she let her mind wander—and thought back to the woman. The one who had looked right at her. 

Asami was a woman born into wealth. She knew how to dress the fashions and make small talk, even if all of that pomp and ceremony seemed rather tedious to her. She was used to being flaunted in society. She was accustomed to the stares from appreciative ladies or lustful lords. She knew how to respond to those looks; a slight turn of the head, the lifting of a fan to conceal her tired frown. But the stares from those of less fortunate circumstances—Asami had always been told by her well-meaning father to look down on them, to fix them in her sights and confront the spiteful envy head on. Eventually, they would look away in shame. And if they did not—she would see the real reason for the distinction in the first place. She would see the hate. And it would stop her heart from clenching the next time she saw a pair of dirty miscreants on the sooty streets of London. 

That was the dichotomy to which Asami had grown accustomed; either she was looked _at_ or _through_. It was all a farce. All superficial. She was breeding stock or she was a meal ticket. She was beautiful, but that was all. She was a reflection of her father’s wealth, and as such she was both admired and hated for her finery. But she was never _seen_. Not as a person. No one ever looked deeper. 

But out on the promenade—Asami had run away from the luncheon so she could _breathe_. She had needed to escape her father’s look of disappointment and all the other prying eyes. She’d wanted to disappear. 

But she hadn’t—well, she _couldn’t_.

Someone had been watching her. A woman from third class. She’d been lounging on a bench, looking more carefree than anyone Asami had ever seen in her breeches and pirate’s shirt with her legs spread wide and her arms crossed behind her head—but Asami hadn’t noticed the men’s clothes first or even her incredibly beautiful dark complexion. No—it had been her eyes. 

They were blue, but—blue seemed such an inadequate word. They were a blue that was constant. And bold and fierce. Not like the everchanging blue of the sky or sea. The eyes of the mysterious woman in pirate’s clothes had been the purest, deepest blue Asami had ever seen—but that wasn’t what had stolen Asami’s breath away. It was that the woman had looked _right at her_.

At first, Asami had thought it must have been a trick of the light, the flash of burning blue, and she’d looked away to collect herself before looking back. But those blue eyes had been fixed on her still. She hadn’t looked away. Not once. It was almost unsettling. 

Because for the first time in a very long time, Asami had been _seen_. She’d felt it. The woman’s expression hadn’t been spiteful or sappily adoring—she’d looked curious. Pensive. Intrigued. Not about the stupid yellow dress Asami had been wearing, but by Asami herself. 

And Asami’s heart had seemed to putter like a faulty engine. 

And then the wind had picked up and blown some wisps of soft looking brown hair into the woman’s impossibly blue eyes and even then, she didn’t look away. In fact, the mystery woman had sat forward and reached up to brush her hair from her eyes to see clearer—and her muscles had bulged a little through her white shirt and _that_ was when Asami’s breath had caught. That was also, consequently, the moment that Asami had catalogued every feature of the mystery woman for scientific reasons. 

That had also been the moment that Opal had arrived to distract her 

“Could I get you to hold your hair up for me, Miss? This one’s got a lot of beading.” The maid interrupted Asami’s thoughts. 

Asami blinked several times and stared at the blood red dress sparkling with dark black gems. It was something Wu had bought for her in Paris.

And just like that—the warmth that had been placed in her chest when she’d made eye contact with the mystery woman was displaced and dissolved. All she could think about was her own miserable place in the world—for what would be the point of remembering the shade of those beautiful eyes or postulating about the softness of that brown hair? Asami could fantasize all she liked but the reality was that she was on this ship for one purpose; to get to her new life. She was going to America, the land of her father’s dreams. And she was going to marry her fiancé, a young man of glittering gold and rather dull green, in New York. 

“Yes, of course.” Asami reached up to gather her black curls up on the top of her head. 

The maid held the dress open and helped Asami step into it, doing her best to keep the beads away from both the corset material and anything else that might catch. Asami held her breath even though the dress was sliding on perfectly and lifted her eyes to the Degas painting on the far wall. She really did love that painting. She supposed it was a comfort to know that even though she would never see the mystery woman again—she would always have this painting. Unless Wu grew tired of it and tossed it overboard, as he tossed aside most everything else when he grew bored. 

Asami bit her lip and stared harder at the painting. She wished she could step into it to escape—even if it could only be for a moment. 

“Very good, Miss—arms just through here.” The maid coached as she helped Asami slide her arms through the thin sleeves. The beading made it scratchy, but Asami could bear it for one evening—Wu never liked her to wear anything more than once. 

“Right—I was thinking we should put your hair up to show off the back?” Zhu Li suggested as she crossed to Asami’s bureau and took up her brush and several hairpins. 

Asami sighed and let her hair fall down over her shoulders. 

“ _Please_ tell me this one doesn’t come with a hat too.”

Zhu Li opened her mouth to respond, but just then there was a knock on Asami’s door. Both women turned to see Hiroshi standing in the doorway, his hands stuffed in his pockets and an easy smile lifting his greying mustaches. 

“I do hope I’m not interrupting.” Hiroshi said. 

“Not at all, Mr. Sato. I was just about to comb Miss Sato’s—” 

“Oh, that’s alright. I can do that.” Hiroshi interrupted warmly, coming into the room. 

The maid looked startled and looked to Asami for answers, but Asami dismissed her with a simple wave of her hand. 

“It’s alright, Zhu Li. I’ll call for you when I need you.”

The maid curtsied and scurried toward the door. She blinked up at Mr. Sato as she handed over the brush. The old man winked at the maid and she flushed and curtsied again. 

“Are you here to lecture me about my behavior during the luncheon?” Asami asked bitterly as she turned and crossed to her bureau. She thought she might as well walk into the blow rather than continue holding her breath. 

“What? No, no—of course not, Sweetie. I came to check on you—you haven’t seemed yourself since Cherbourg.” Hiroshi said quickly.

He sounded genuinely concerned and Asami’s heart twisted guiltily. She dropped down heavily on her bureau stool and dropped her face into her hands, unable to stop a sob from escaping her throat. She was letting him down, and she couldn’t bear that weight. She couldn’t keep up the charade she’d been wearing all for his sake—she’d been breaking little by little for a long time now, long before _Cherbourg_. 

Hiroshi crossed the distance, dropping a hand on his child’s shoulder. 

“Oh, Sweetheart—I know it’s hard. I’ll miss it too. We’re leaving behind a whole life—everything that reminded me of your mother, and all our friends, and it’s natural to feel a little loss.” Hiroshi rubbed soothing circles into Asami’s back, his own eyes misting behind his spectacles. 

“But I hope you can understand that I only want what’s best for you, Sweetie.”

Asami lifted her head and swiveled in her seat, wrapping her long arms around her father’s considerable girth. She buried her face in his chest, still unable to get her lungs working properly. 

“I under-understand.” Asami stammered. 

Hiroshi smiled down at Asami and bent to kiss the top of her head. 

“Good girl.” Hiroshi gently guided Asami back around by the shoulders and took up a handful of her black curls. His wife had always strived to be a hands-on mother and had done her best while living to set aside an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening for her daughter—and hair brushing had been one small, everyday routine that both had enjoyed. Hiroshi could still remember the sound of his wife singing and Asami giggling as they stood before some mirror or other in the early hours while he sat to his breakfast and paper downstairs in the dining room. He had never learned the words to the song his wife had loved so much to sing, and for many months—perhaps even years—after his wife’s death, Hiroshi had been going through life as if in a fog. 

But he had had to come out of it for Asami’s sake. She’d only been a child at the time, after all, and there was only so much governesses could replicate. 

So Hiroshi had taken to brushing his daughter’s hair. Not every day. And certainly not as well as his wife had ever done, but he did find it relaxing in a way—and it gave him a chance to spend time with Asami, which was something he knew would become more and more difficult once she established her own household.

“You know, I think I’m starting to like that Varrick fellow.” Hiroshi said as he began brushing through Asami’s curls. “He’s a little crazy, but I like him. He says he may know some investors in Detroit who may want to buy interest in Future Industries. Could you imagine that, Asami? Of course, we’ll keep the house in New York and offload all of the merchandise, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep our options open. I hear Detroit is simply booming. Just as fine a place to make our mark…”

Asami closed her eyes as her father spoke. As he got more and more excited about the prospect of a factory in Detroit as well as New York City, Hiroshi’s brush strokes grew a little more aggressive and lost their tenderness. Asami bit her lip to keep from wincing. 

“Could I go with you?” Asami finally whispered when her father paused to puzzle over how he could have possibly gotten the brush so tangled in his daughter’s heavy curls. 

“What was that, Princess?” Hiroshi muttered, bending closer. 

“Could I go with you to Detroit?” Asami clarified, blinking against the sting of tears sprung from acute pain as her father tried to extricate the brush. “Expanding so quickly is a risk, especially in a new market—you could use all the help you can get. Could I—could I work with you again? Just for a little while, until you get the company going…” 

“Now, Asami, Sweetheart, we talked about this.” Hiroshi said a little more sternly as he finally ripped the brush free and tried to flatten down the mess he’d made in the back. 

“It’s just not acceptable—not even in America, for a woman to…to work when she has so many other things to do.”

“You mean sit around in an empty house all day while my husband squanders away his inheritance at the gaming clubs I’ve heard so much about.” Asami snapped, unable to help herself. 

She could see her life stretching before her as if she’d already lived it—a routine her father expected her to accept. She’d play along of course. Play the dutiful wife. She’d go to dinner parties and cotillions. She’d keep up the charade, wear a smile as she sat and chatted idly with the same dull people over and over again about her picture perfect life that was an exact replica of everyone else’s in Society. She’d appear agreeable when Wu made outrageous purchases, new yachts and new properties, new watches and new dresses, and she wouldn’t fight when he dragged her to polo matches. She’d get letters from her father, from friends back home and like so many other young wives, she’d answer them almost desperately—eager for news outside of her inconsequential existence. Every night would be a nightmare, and at first, her days would be her refuge. She’d feel a thrill of excitement every morning when she was left to her own devices. But little by little, she’d start to break down. Tools left unused grow rusty, and she would feel her mind growing dull and useless. She’d read every book in the library cover to cover, desperate for stimulation. She’d rearrange the furniture. She’d try experiments in the kitchen until she was caught. She’d stare out of windows at the freer souls out on the street. She’d start to hate being left alone. Until one day she’d burst from the house screaming and no one would even care. Or notice.

Asami could see it all. She shuddered. 

“You’re not a child anymore, Asami.” Hiroshi said sternly.

“You’re a young lady of Society, and once you’re married to Wu, everyone will know that. _Everyone_ will know that you are the daughter of a _gentlemen_ , that my daughter is just as good as they are!” Hiroshi finished with a slightly impassioned flair, his eyes bulging. 

Asami blinked rapidly and bowed her head. She was surprised when she felt her father’s fingertips lifting her chin up and she was forced to look into her father’s eyes—he was breathing heavily, clearly trying to control himself, but his touch wasn’t altogether rough.

“You won’t know this, Asami, but for many years—for many years, your mother was ridiculed and slighted because she married a foreigner. Her own father, your _grandfather_ , struck her from his will out of spite—never mind that I was a self-made man with more money than he ever saw in his lifetime. No matter how hard I worked or how much money I made—there was always that mark against me. I wasn’t quite _in_. It took a long time for your mother to find her way in again, Asami. And even longer for them to accept me with her. But even so—with your mother’s family there was always that look—the one that let me know I wasn’t quite right. It was humiliating. Shameful. And I don’t want that for you, Sweetie. Money is the only language these people understand, Asami. And I’ve made enough to protect you, but I won’t be around forever. And I won’t—I _won’t_ let them slam their doors to you. With Wu, you’ll always be safe. Do you understand?” Hiroshi brushed a curl back behind Asami’s ear.

"But Daddy—”

“You look _so much_ like your mother.” Hiroshi beamed, not even hearing Asami’s protest. 

Asami took a shuddering breath and tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

Hiroshi leaned forward and kissed Asami’s forehead, his mustaches were scratchy. 

“Alright then. I’m glad we had this talk, Princess. I’ll see you at dinner…shall I send Zhu Li back in?” Hiroshi asked at the door.

Asami nodded, but didn’t speak. 

She been having so much trouble catching her breath recently and she had swallowed so many screams—she was afraid of what might escape if she so much as opened her mouth.


	10. You Jump, I Jump

Korra knew it was silly—but she stayed out on the stern deck. She skipped the evening meal so she could stay right at her bench and sketch at least a dozen pictures of the mystery woman that she then promptly tore out of her book and tossed into the wind because they were imperfect and she was stupid for even trying. 

Her mystery woman was a goddess. A Venus De Milo. Some things just couldn’t translate to paper. 

Especially not by such an amateur hand.

She just wanted to see her again. Was that too much to ask?

It was dark now, and Korra was stretched out on her bench, her eyes wide open. The sky spread out above her, a dome of stars and darkness. As the ship steamed ahead, pushing right through waves and barely rocking, Korra could feel the slight give, the shuddering of the metal beast upon which she was lounging. Despite its size, the _Titanic_ was moved by the sea. But the sky? The sky was fixed. The stars unmoved. They burned with cold assurance.

Korra knew it was a little cliché, to say the stars were beautiful. But they were. And it had been a long time since she’d seen the sky like this—so open and vast, so close with nothing to keep her from them. She’d been roaming for so long—but she’d stayed near the cities, near people she could draw, near _movement_ and excitement. There had always been smog. And smoke. So much of it that she’d grown accustomed to it. She’d even prided herself for smelling like the city, for blending in. 

But now, in the middle of the Atlantic, there was no veil to hide the stars. No haze. Not even a cloud in the sky. And she was struck with a fierce pang of homesickness—the kind she hadn’t felt in years. She suddenly ached in a way she couldn’t explain for the open plains and even the cold of home, not of Wisconsin, where she’d lived with her uncle and cousins during her adolescence before striking out on her own, but of Alaska. Where her mother and father still lived. 

_Spirits_ she hadn’t written to them in over three years. 

Korra wondered if they still thought of her. She thought of them sometimes. She could remember the smell of pinesmoke, the warmth of curling up under her mother’s blanket while her father built the fire. She’d been a child then, surrounded by love and a vast wilderness to call her home. What on earth had ever made her think that she needed anything more?

As if sensing her thoughts, Naga let out a long, mournful howl beside Korra. 

Korra sat up and patted her dog’s head, soothing her with a kiss to the snout. She even slipped her a piece of beef jerky she’d been keeping in her pocket. 

“It’s alright, girl. We’re going home. For real this time.” Korra promised, scratching Naga behind the ears.

Naga whined and licked Korra’s fingers. 

“Don’t look at me like that. We’ll figure it out.” Korra scolded as she stretched back out and fumbled with the cigarette she had stowed behind her ear. She had decided against smoking it in front of Tenzin’s children earlier in the day, but now she needed the kick of nicotine desperately. Her thoughts were growing a little too visceral—thoughts of the mystery woman she would probably never see again and of her parents whom she hadn’t seen in far too long. 

Korra lit her cigarette and took a deep pull, immediately relaxing. 

Naga whined again and Korra frowned at her faithful companion. 

“You worry too much.” Korra huffed as she settled back on her bench. She crossed her arms back behind her head. Naga snorted. But seemed to relent as she leaned forward to rest her head on Korra’s stomach. 

Korra took another drag from her cigarette and watched the smoke turn thin and then fade as she used her free hand to stroke Naga’s head. It was hardly quiet on the ship, what with so many hands moving about, shouting this order or that, and so many activities happening simultaneously on the various decks, but Korra still thought it was quite peaceful. Just to be under the stars.

That is, until she heard a muffled sob. 

Korra turned her head just in time to see a woman in a state of distress running by. Her heels sounded loudly on the decking, but there was also a static to each step—beads from her dress trailing along behind her. Her hair was as dark as the night sky above, and the gemstones in her dress and hanging from her ears flashed like stars in the light from the bridge about twenty feet above. 

She passed like a phantom, sobbing and breathing heavily—stopping for nothing. And no one. 

_It can’t be_ , Korra thought with a frown. She was sure her mind must be playing tricks on her. She’d only caught a glimpse—no, even less than that. 

Still, Korra and Naga both lifted their heads to watch the woman’s progress. Her course seemed set, and she had yet to deviate. Korra’s heart started beating faster and faster as she watched the woman run right up to the stern flagpole and everything seemed to stutter to a crashing halt—the railing and the flagpole remained steely and constant, but there was an indomitable energy in the woman that seemed as if it wanted to go further—to keep running even though there was no more deck. 

Korra was already on her feet, some cold fear in her chest forcing her to move even though she had no idea how she could possibly approach this situation. She didn’t know this woman, didn’t know what had driven her to run out this far. She only knew that she couldn’t sit by and do nothing. 

Korra forced herself to walk slowly, Naga trotting beside her. The way the woman hung over the railing was giving Korra all kinds of anxiety and she was afraid that if she ran up too quickly—she may frighten the poor thing and send her toppling over. 

Even so, Korra picked up the pace a little when she saw the woman start to climb over the railing as if she didn’t realize the severity of her situation—or maybe she did, and that was what frightened Korra most. 

Korra’s palms were sweating and she could hear the woman trying to regain control of her breathing on the other side of the railing. She could hear the water churning far below them where the propellers were turning the black water into white foam. And she could hear the Union Jack flag snapping in the wind on the stupid flagpole. She was pretty sure she could also hear her own heart pounding frantically, but Korra chose to ignore her own paralyzing fear and tried to focus on the woman. The woman was still there. 

She hadn’t jumped yet. 

“Don’t do it.” Korra called out the first thing that came to her mind.

Immediately she regretted it, because the woman almost lost her footing as she spun around to confront her.

“Stay back! I mean it.” A half-choked voice reached Korra’s ears, but Korra was too stunned to respond right away. 

Her heart that had been pumping so frantically in fear seemed to seize up and warmth spread through her chest—everything in perfect alignment.

“It-It’s you—I know you!” Korra stammered, her jaw dropping. 

It _was_ the mystery woman. 

There were tear stains on her cheeks and her hair was a rumpled, listless mess that blew into her face every five seconds—but Korra knew those eyes. They were what was truly soft about her. Everything else was achingly regal, from her proud forehead to her sharp jawline. Even her eyebrows and her lips seemed as if they would be better represented with acute lines than curves, if Korra were ever to try drawing the beautiful woman before her again.

“I—what? Don’t _presume_ to know me, I don’t know you.” The woman snapped, a fire glowing a bright green in her eyes.

Naga growled, but Korra ignored her and lifted her hands to show she meant no ill-will or disrespect as she stepped more deliberately into the woman’s line of sight. The woman had a distinctly British accent, not high enough to be posh, but low and raspy—Korra thought she sounded like wind through old pines. 

“No, no, it’s okay, see—I saw you earlier today out on the deck when you threw your hat away.” Korra explained quickly. She was glad that the woman was at least watching her, even if she was glaring at her with what could only be described as suspicion. She’d rather keep her distracted, keep her talking—anything to keep her suspended a moment longer.

“From the—” The woman’s green eyes widened and Korra couldn’t help but feel a small sense of victory when she saw recognition slowly spread across her face. Everything about her seemed to relax—her eyebrows unfurrowed and her frown ticked up into a more neutral expression. 

“Oh yes, the pirate.” The woman murmured. 

Korra frowned, not sure she’d heard correctly.

“What?” 

“Nevermind.” The woman huffed and blew a stray black curl away from her eyes. “Yes, well—it was nice to see you again, but if you don’t mind, I was in the middle of—” The green eyed woman started to turn her attention away and Korra’s heart seized again.

“Wait, wait, wait—you don’t want to do that.” Korra said, wishing she could just dart forward, but she had seen that wild desperate look before—usually in the eyes of prey when she’d gone on hunts with her uncle. She approached the woman as she would any wounded creature, cautiously and with a soft, gentle voice. 

“I _beg_ your pardon?” The woman demanded, whipping her head back around to glare in Korra’s direction—her tone was stern and authoritative and Korra felt her knees go a little weak, and she fought against that ridiculous impulse. “What on earth makes you think you know what I want?”

“I, ahh—” Korra hated that her tongue suddenly felt heavy. She could only blink up at two of the softest, greenest stars she’d ever seen. She took a shaky breath.

The mystery woman’s eyebrows furrowed together and she turned her head.

“You’re distracting me, go away!”

Korra blinked and looked down at Naga. 

“But I didn’t say anything.” Korra pointed out. 

The woman was trying to stifle sobs again and Korra wanted more than anything to reach out and touch her, to comfort her.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Alright? Just—just take my hand and I’ll pull you over.” Korra offered, turning her palm upward as she reached out. Korra had very steady hands. Even in this chill, they didn’t quake.

“I can’t.” The woman was losing her battle with the tears. 

Korra gritted her teeth and shuffled just a little bit closer. 

“Yes, you can.” Korra soothed. 

“No! Stay where you are! I mean it.” The woman croaked, her voice breaking slightly. Gone was the lofty tone of before, now all Korra could hear was desperate panic. “I’ll—I’ll let go.”

Korra swallowed down her own panic and forced herself to sound confident even if she didn’t feel it.

“No you won’t.” 

The woman whipped her head to look at Korra, but could only see her imperfectly. She seemed terribly tired—as if she hadn’t considered that she would have to hold on this long. 

“If this was _really_ what you wanted—you would have done it already.” Korra said with conviction, her eyes darting down to the woman’s heels briefly before looking back up into her eyes.

The mystery woman bit her lower lip and shivered, bowing her head in defeat.

“Please. Please just go.” The woman begged. “I really don’t need an audience.”

Korra’s heart trembled at that, but at the same time her back stiffened—she wasn’t going anywhere. Except maybe down. Into the water.

Korra shivered and took a step back.

“I’m really sorry. But I can’t do that.” Korra explained as she slipped off her jacket and tossed it aside. The woman lifted her head, her chin jutting out defiantly, but Korra didn’t give her a chance to interrupt. “I’m involved now. If you let go—I’m gonna have to jump in there after you.” 

“Don’t be absurd.” The woman scoffed. She risked letting go of the rail for a moment with one hand to reach up and wipe a few tears away from her cheek. 

“I’m a good swimmer.” Korra asserted as she bent to start unlacing her boots. She could feel the cold of the wind biting at her cheeks and neck now, but she was more concerned with keeping the woman talking. She started with her left boot, careful to keep an eye on Naga who was watching the woman for her, ears flat and eyes forward. 

The woman snorted and grabbed the rail again to steady herself. Her green eyes glanced down at the churning water, her expression growing more pensive as she contemplated the consequence of distance. 

“The fall alone would kill you…” The woman trailed off when she saw the way her unexpected and unappreciated rescuer’s muscles flexed under her white shirt. The light green eyes widened and the mystery woman’s nostrils flared—though Korra remained completely unaware. 

“The impact would _incapacitate_ you at least.” The mystery woman corrected, looking away the moment Korra lifted her head. There was pink in her cheeks, but it could easily be attributed to the stinging wind. 

“Does that mean it would hurt?” Korra asked as she yanked off her boot. Naga whined, but Korra shook her head at her dog. 

“Yes, I think it is safe to say that it would hurt _a lot_.” The mystery woman said with a toss of her hair and an eye roll, clearly annoyed. 

Korra’s lips involuntarily stretched into a sheepish grin and she tossed aside her other boot. She straightened and brush her hair from her eyes even though it was pointless because she was more or less at the mercy of the winds. 

“To be honest—it’s not really the fall that worries me.” Korra said conversationally as she sidled up to the rail as nonchalantly as she could. She prayed that the woman was at least comfortable enough with her presence not to be startled. She tossed away her cigarette that had long ago been snuffed out by the wind. 

Korra dropped her elbows onto the rail and both women watched the thin piece of white arc toward the darkness until it disappeared from sight.

“I’m much more concerned about that water being so cold.” Korra admitted. It took all of her self control to keep her eyes trained on the water. She could feel the woman’s eyes on her—she was desperate for a lifeline. But Korra was afraid that if she turned to look at the woman she may disappear. 

Korra held her breath—waiting. She chanced a peek through the corner of her eye and she could practically see the cogs turning in the woman’s mind. Korra prayed that the woman was finally starting to reconsider.

“How cold exactly?” The woman finally asked. “Freezing?”

“Maybe a couple of degrees over.” Korra said with a shrug. 

The woman nodded as if this information were critical. 

Korra felt Naga’s nose nudging into the back of her knee and she cleared her throat, getting the woman’s attention again. 

“Have you ahh—ever been to Alaska?” 

The woman turned her head, perplexed. Several black curls blew right into Korra’s face.

“What? No. Of course not. Why?” The woman stammered, once again blindsided by Korra’s charm.

“Well, they have some of the coldest winters around. Alaska Territory is up in Canada, see? And there’s all this talk about statehood, but it always dies down after awhile—anyway, I grew up there. Once, when I was pretty young, me and my father were ice-fishing out on Matanuska Lake near this little place called Anchorage—ice-fishing is where you cut a hole in the ice and—” Korra paused to explain because the woman’s face had morphed from mild interest to downright consternation.

“I know what ice fishing is!” The mystery woman snapped, closing her eyes against the force of her own voice. The woman took several breaths, but they didn't seem to calm her any further--she only seemed to deflate slightly, curl in on herself. Which was hazardous considering she was already hanging off the back of an ocean liner. 

“Sorry.” Korra apologized, lifting her hands up to further prove that she didn’t mean to upset the woman who was quite literally on the verge of vulnerability. “It’s just that you seem so elegant and rich and—” 

The look the mystery woman gave Korra made her want to swallow her tongue. She carefully reconsidered her position and decided against telling the mystery woman that at first she’d thought she looked ‘prissy’…because they were _way_ beyond that now. 

They’d moved beyond superficial assumptions the moment Korra had seen the woman toss away her hat and then caught her eye for a full ten seconds. Those ten seconds had stretched like lifetimes, and Korra was pretty sure she had fallen a little bit in love. 

“Sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t presume.” Korra stammered. 

“Everyone always assumes that I’m too delicate to do anything for myself—that I’m this—High Society _Lady_ to be treated like some bloody porcelain doll.” The mystery woman spat out the word and Korra noted the clench in her jaw—it made her appear fiercer, vibrant. And Korra wanted to shout for joy because the woman seemed to be coming back to life right before her eyes. There was even some color coming back into her cheeks again.

“I don’t think that.” Korra said, offering a tentative smile. 

She was rewarded with an immediate quirk of the mystery woman’s lips and the slightest uptick of the mystery woman’s eyebrow. 

“Because you know me so well?” The woman demanded in a tone that Korra chose to believe was teasing. 

“Oh—right. I’m Korra.” Korra said, hating that it had taken her this long to get around to introductions. But then again—this wasn’t exactly how she had imagined an actual meeting to occur between herself and the mystery woman. Never in ten thousand years would she have thought that her mystery woman would come to her. She’d assumed she’d have to do a lot of snooping and finagling just to get a name, and by then they’d probably dock in New York and she’d lose her chance forever. 

All things considered—things were going pretty well. 

Korra started to reach out with her hand, but quickly realized shaking hands over the rail was ridiculous as well as life-threatening, so she instead rubbed at the back of her neck a little awkwardly. 

The mystery woman chuckled—the sound warmed Korra all the way down to her toes. 

“How do you do, Korra. I’m Asami. Asami Sato.” The woman, Asami, finally managed a real smile and Korra’s heart started beating faster. 

“Pleased to meet you.” Korra somehow managed to say. Beside her, Naga snorted, clearly less impressed. Asami’s green eyes traveled down to the dog for the first time and she inclined her head slightly. 

“And your friend?”

“Oh—this is Naga.” Korra explained sheepishly.

“Hello, Naga.” Asami said softly. 

Naga barked and her tail twitched, but Korra knew it didn’t exactly qualify as a wag.

“So Korra—what happened? On the ice—with you and your father?” Asami asked, tilting her head.

And that was all it took for Korra to suddenly remember exactly where they were and why she was shivering in her holey woolen stockings sans jacket, sans boots, sans sense.

Korra bit her lip and tried to hold on to her purpose—the mystery woman had a name now. A rather beautiful one. Asami. 

She couldn’t let Asami go now. 

She was going to get her back over the rail whether Miss Sato liked it or not. 

“Well—I fell through some thin ice.” Korra said casually, leaning against the rail. She tried to appear unaffected, but she was calculating each word, gauging Asami’s reaction and praying to the Spirits that her words would coax the gorgeous Miss Sato back over the rail. 

Korra puffed out her cheeks and let out a loud breath. 

“The water was so cold. It was like a thousand knives hitting me all at once. I’d never felt anything like it before. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t even move—it was like I forgot how to swim. I forgot who I was. All I knew was pain. I couldn’t escape it.” 

Asami let out a soft breath and regarded the black water down below, shrinking back slightly. 

Korra smirked and rubbed at her chin. 

“Which is why, I’m really not looking forward to jumping down there after you and going through something like that again. But—like I said. I don’t have a choice.” Korra said with finality. 

“You jump. I jump.” 

Asami’s chest was heaving as she took very deep breaths of the cold night air. Her green eyes darted down to the water and her heart stuttered pitifully.

“That seems a rather extreme mantra to adopt for someone you’ve only just met.”

Korra’s heart ached at that. She wanted to tell Asami that she felt as if she’d known her forever—for thousands of lifetimes before this one. But she knew that sounded crazy. The truth was actually almost the reverse—she wanted to know her forever. To look forward, not back. She wanted to get to know this woman. She wanted to meet her again under vastly different circumstances—someplace warmer. Someplace safer. She wanted to see her smiling and happy. She wanted to know where she’d grown up and where she was headed. Korra knew they came from two very different worlds, but she wanted to know all about Asami Sato.

“Yeah, well—my dog likes you.” Korra said with a shrug. 

Naga lifted her ears and seemed to glare at Korra, indignant that her human should say such things on her behalf when she had made her sentiments known. 

“She does?” Asami queried.

Korra could only see half of her face—her profile really. But she could tell that Asami was already half smiling. 

“Yeah. And once she adopts you into her pack, there’s really no getting out, so you just kind of have to live with it.” Korra continued. 

She was rewarded with yet another laugh.

“Well, tell Naga I’m flattered…” Asami chuckled. 

Korra smiled but her blue eyes remained determined. She reached out deliberately.

“Tell her yourself. Come on, Asami. Please. Give me your hand. You don’t want to do this.” Korra whispered. She was so close now she could smell a taint of perfume on the air—something soothing. Like cherry blossoms. 

Asami was quiet for a long moment. Korra would have given anything to know what she was thinking. Naga got impatient and let out a half snarl that was mostly a whine.

Finally, Korra felt ice-cold fingers slide through her own and she let out a sigh of relief. 

_Thank the Spirits._

Korra gripped Asami’s hand firmly and acted as her anchor as the other woman carefully worked to turn herself around. 

“Careful—there you go.” Korra encouraged, keeping her blue eyes on Asami’s heels as she shuffled and worked around the hem of her dress. 

“So Korra—is there a last name that goes with that?” Asami asked, her eyes also down on her feet. She was trembling. Her muscles were quivering both with adrenaline and a newfound sense of vertigo after staring down at the churning water for so long. 

“Oh, well—I usually tell people Dawson. It’s easier…” Korra murmured.

The two women were now facing one another, and Korra was forced to tilt her head back a little to stare up into Asami’s eyes. She was pretty sure that even on a level deck, the woman would be taller than her. But she didn’t feel intimidated. Merely intrigued. Now that Asami was facing the ship, her eyes appeared more yellow than green, reflecting the glow from the bridge. 

“Easier than?” Asami quirked an eyebrow. 

Korra swallowed. She was finding that she often got tongue tied around this woman. 

“Atiqtalaaq.” Korra felt herself blushing as she said it. 

It had been years since she’d spoken the name of her father’s clan aloud—she hardly ever spoke of Alaska. Those memories were precious, but distant. She hadn’t even mentioned it to Mako or Bolin—it wasn’t that she intended to keep it secret, it had just never seemed worth sharing before. The Inuktitut sounded clunky on her already heavy tongue. She had forgotten the language like she had forgotten so many things—Korra suddenly found herself racking her brain, trying to remember the color of her mother’s eyes. 

“Atick—Antiqtalock?” Asami tried, shaking her head and blushing at her own inadequacy. “I may have to have you write that down for me.”

Korra chuckled and found Asami’s other hand still clenching the rail. 

“One thing at a time, Miss Sato.” 

Asami laughed lightly and lifted her foot to step up to the next bar. 

It had only taken a moment for all the stars to align and for Korra’s world to thrum with harmony that morning on the deck. 

Therefore, she shouldn’t have been surprised when it took only a moment for it all to shatter. 

Asami’s shoe caught on the hem of her dress and in the flash of a moment—she lost her footing. Korra heard her scream in the same moment Naga let out a mighty bark. Korra instinctively tightened her grip on Asami’s hand and grunted when the woman fell away, Korra now her only lifeline. 

“Asami! Asami, hold on!” Korra shouted above the woman’s frantic cries and her own dog’s barking. 

“Asami, look at me! Look at me—it’s alright!” Korra grunted. Her arm stung and quivered with heat, as if it had been wrenched out of socket

Asami’s frightened green eyes latched onto Korra and Korra gritted her teeth. 

“Grab the rail—come on, you can do it, I’ve got you. I won’t let go; I promise! But you’ve got to help me!” Korra coached. 

“I can’t—” Asami’s lip quivered. Her eyes darted frantically to their linked hands—and for a terrible moment, Korra was sure she could feel the woman’s fingers go limp. 

Korra gripped on all the harder. She was _not_ going to lose her.

“Yes, you can. You can.” Korra asserted strongly. “I’ve got you—I won’t let go.” 

Asami blinked back tears and reached blindly for the rail with her free hand. 

“Good—good. Now climb up—you can do it!” Korra called, sweating through her shirt from the exertion. 

Asami gripped the rail hard and tried to find the lip of the deck with her feet. For a moment, she seemed to find it, but then her heel slipped again and she flailed, her heels sliding uselessly against the smooth hull. Korra pitched forward with a grunt and Naga darted forward to latch on to her mistress’s shirttails. 

“I-I can’t!” Asami wailed, tears freezing at the corners of her eyes. She could feel the ocean stretching out below her, boiling and roiling like a living thing, frothing with impatience for her. 

“Look at me! Asami, don’t look down. Look up at me, come on!” Korra begged. 

Asami looked up at a blue stronger than the black of the sea. She seemed to nod to herself and suddenly she found the strength to climb. 

“Good! You’re doing great—keep going! I’ve got you!” Korra gasped in relief. 

As soon as Asami’s torso was clear of the top rail, Korra grabbed her waist and pulled with all her might. Asami’s own intent to heave herself over the rail made for an awkward meeting of propulsion and momentum and the two women tangled together in a mess of taunt fear and exhausted limbs before crashing to the deck. Korra managed to twist to get around Asami to cradle her head from the deck, but the taller woman’s knees made a sharp connection with Korra’s side and groin, knocking the air out of her lungs and Korra collapsed forward—more or less dropping her face into Asami’s chest. 

Naga was over them in an instant, nosing into Korra’s neck, checking for life. 

“Asami—are you alright? Are you hurt?” Korra wheezed around the pain. 

She was concerned because Asami wasn’t moving—and she hadn’t screamed for several heart-pounding seconds. 

Korra barely had the chance to lift her head before a bright light was flashed almost directly in her eyes. Naga growled and Korra could feel the tension turn the air electric all around them.

A gruff voice cut through the ringing in Korra’s ears, 

“What’s all this?”


	11. A Good Story to Mask the Truth

Asami had been given a blanket to wrap around her shoulders, but it did little to warm her. She was _freezing_. Someone had thought to thrust a warm beverage in her hands, almost scalding her fingers. But Asami wasn’t thirsty. 

She supposed if she had to put a label on it—she’d say she was _shocked_. 

She had almost—died. Had almost hurled herself off the back of a ship. As if she didn’t know what that would do to her father—hadn’t he suffered enough with the loss of her mother? It filled Asami with shame to think of it. 

But the truth was—Asami hadn’t been thinking about her father. Or Wu. Or Society. Or anyone. 

For the first time in months—she had been thinking only of herself. And that was the truly terrifying part. Because Asami had _wanted_ to die. 

She had wanted to leave this godforsaken ship behind with its stifling dinner parties and strict itineraries. Life on the _Titanic_ seemed merely her real life in miniature—every day planned to the final minutes by someone other than herself. She was dressed by maids and served meals that had been selected for her. She was paraded around this ballroom and put on display in that parlor, instructed to play this concerto or to sit through idle chatter with those important guests who had come to pay call. And she couldn’t _breathe_.

Maybe she’d thought she could finally let loose and scream on the way down to the ocean. It would have been liberating. 

But then again, Korra had said that the shock of the cold would render her voiceless and immobile—

_Where’s Korra?_

A jolt tore through Asami’s body and her spine stiffened. Her eyes cleared and she finally started to make sense of the activity around her. 

On her left side, there seemed to be a swarm of uniformed men and boys trying to converge on a mass of white fur that was snarling and barking, running in tight circles to evade capture—it was Korra’s dog. Naga. The one with huge paws and a puppy’s face. 

Asami bit her lip and turned to look to her right. Her heart caught in her throat when she saw Wu standing there with several other men still in their black tie attire from dinner. They were clearly arguing with a man whose shadow alone made Asami cringe. The Master at Arms, and closest thing to police aboard the ship. He was a tall man with long, black hair and a mustache. He was the only man in the tight circle who appeared bare chested. There were tattoos splattered across his bulging biceps and on his chest. His hands were massive, and he had them clamped down on Korra’s shoulders.

Korra was right in the thick of it. 

Asami’s heart clenched when she saw Korra. The woman had been so calm before—an indomitable force of will whose magnetism had literally pulled Asami from the edge. Korra’s hands had been so strong and steady, and her eyes—those blue eyes had cradled Asami and forced her heart to slow. Korra had changed the color of Asami’s world. And she’d seemed pleased with herself for doing it. 

Asami didn’t think she’d ever be able to forget that wide grin. 

But now Korra’s face was strained and she struggled mightily. It took two men to hold her back, the Master at Arms and a man Asami vaguely remembered was called Bataar, a First Officer and right hand of Captain Kuvira. Asami’s first impression of the man had been fleeting, and she had not formed any strong opinions of him. But now—a part of her heart couldn’t help but despise him. He handled Korra so roughly and seemed completely unmoved by the bizarre game of chase that looked to be mounting to violence just to his right. Korra’s white linen shirt had been torn in several places and Asami was sure she must be hurting. The muscular woman’s eyes were wild as she tried to get across the deck.

“Leave her alone—please! Please, that’s my dog!” Korra’s voice was scratchy, either from desperation or anger. Possibly both. 

Asami found herself rising to her feet. Naga snarled from beneath one of the benches on the deck—it offered very little protection. Asami hadn’t noticed before, but several of the uniformed men had nightsticks raised.

“Wu? Wu!” Asami called as she left her perch to storm toward the gentlemen who were all shivering without proper jackets. 

“Ah! There you are, sugarplum! Don’t worry, it’s alright—I’m here now.” Wu said, opening his arms as if to shower Asami with his soothing aura. Behind Wu stood his stoic body guard, a man Asami hardly ever noticed because he moved through the shadows and never spoke to her. He was stalky and very broad shouldered. His face was very square, as if chiseled from a craggy stone. He had no hair on his head, just a scar on one temple that looked like an ‘x’. He was called Zaheer. 

“Wu, darling—tell them to stop. Please—Naga isn’t a plaything. Show some decorum.” Asami scolded, ice seemed to be flowing in her veins. She was still terrified, but she could feel Korra’s blue eyes on her and somehow that seemed to give her all the strength she needed. 

“The what now?” Wu asked, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“The young lady has clearly had a fright—you’d best get her indoors.” President Raiko advised not-so-discreetly to Wu. 

“Yes, yes—far too cold.” One of Wu’s associates chimed in.

“Poor thing.” Said another.

“Don’t you worry, Asami. We’ve caught your attacker—and soon we’ll have her feral wolf friend too.” Mr. Varrick explained, draping an arm around Asami’s shoulders. 

Asami ducked out of his reach, her entire body rigid with distaste. 

“My _attacker_? What are you talking about?” Asami demanded. 

“My men saw her throw you to the deck, Miss Sato.” First Officer Bataar Jr. informed the disheveled young woman. His own hair was a bit of a mess and there was sweat on his brow from wrestling with the surprisingly strong criminal in his grasp. 

“When we finally got to you, we found your dress in tatters and this— _steerage rat_ on top of you. I think it’s pretty clear she was trying to rob you. I’m only sorry…that we didn’t get to you sooner.” Bataar grunted when Korra tried to dart away once more—one of the men across the deck had got ahold of Naga’s leather collar and dragged her out from beneath the bench while another had landed a blow. The sound of Naga’s whimper almost shattered Korra’s heart completely. 

“Let go of her!” Korra begged.

“Stop it! All of you—Korra didn’t attack me. She _saved_ me.” Asami said quickly, tears stinging her eyes. 

“What are you saying?” The Master at Arms man growled, a low, frightening sound.

Asami found Korra’s desperate gaze and held it, begging her to forgive her—suddenly wishing she had thought of someone other than herself tonight. Maybe then Korra and Naga wouldn’t be in so much pain. 

“I came away from the dinner party early and I wanted to see the propellers. You know how much I love machinery, Wu. Well, I hadn’t realized how dark it would be—so I had to lean far over the railing to see the propellers, but while I was leaning over, I just…slipped.” Asami lied as convincingly as she could, never once looking away from Korra’s face. 

“You what?” Mr. Raiko’s mouth was slightly agape and his eyes bulged. His face was a little purple—it looked as though he disagreed very strongly with everything Asami had just said. 

“I slipped.” Asami said again, shrugging her shoulders. She was not sure if any of the gentlemen believed her, but the uniformed men with Naga had at least come forward to listen to her tale, which meant they had stopped beating the poor creature. 

“I would have gone overboard, but Miss Dawson here pulled me back. She saved me.” Asami articulated further. 

Wu looked particularly perplexed. He glanced between Korra and Asami several times before lifting his cane slightly. 

“You mean you wanted…to see those great big things that go round and round?” The incredibly wealthy, but not too bright, young man inquired. 

Asami let out a breath.

“Yes. Precisely.” 

There was a collective sigh of relief that wasn’t quite convincing enough to cover the grumblings of the gentlemen who had been looking forward to an arrest and a feral wolf wrangling. 

“Well, it’s like I keep telling your father—women and machinery just don’t mix.” Wu drawled, leaning heavily on his cane. 

“Well said, my boy!” Mr. Varrick chimed in with a deep chuckle. 

“I thought so, yes.” Wu beamed, looking mighty pleased with himself as he rearranged his scarf. 

“Darling.” Asami said pointedly. When Wu caught her eye Asami jerked her chin toward Korra, her green eyes burning. “Don’t you think it would be prudent to let Korra go before we start congratulating ourselves on a job well done?”

“Oh—right. Of course. Anything for you, sweetpea. You heard my exquisite fiancé, boys—let the steerage rat go, if you please.” Wu commanded with a grandiose gesture from his cane. 

Asami felt anger spike in her blood once again, but she clenched her fists instead of speaking and turned her head to make sure her fiancé’s orders were obeyed. 

The Master at Arms begrudgingly released his hold on Korra, but the man Bataar twisted Korra’s arm behind her back, making her wince. 

“Was that really the way it happened?” Bataar Jr. rasped, his lips curled back in a sneer. 

Asami’s breath caught when Korra’s blue eyes found her again. 

“It’s like the Lady said—she wanted to see the propellers.” Korra panted as calmly as she could. 

“Very well.” Bataar Jr. growled as he finally relinquished his hold on Korra and shoved her away. 

Korra recovered her footing quickly and darted right between the men holding Naga. She swatted them away so she could wrap her arms around her animal and bury her face in Naga’s fur. The animal’s ears remained flat, but she let out a low whine as she licked Korra’s hands.

“I’m so sorry girl—are you hurt?” Korra whispered as she stroked Naga’s forelegs. There was a smart red mark visible just above the animal’s quivering nose and Korra kissed her snout before pressing her forehead into Naga’s. 

“Alright then lads—excitement’s over.” Bataar Jr. steamed. The uniformed men glanced mostly at each other and down at the deck as they shuffled away. One of them tossed down Korra’s boots as he stomped away and they clattered to the deck.

“Well, well—it seems the eccentric young woman is a hero then! Bully for you—Korra was it? And her trusty side-kick, Roh-tan! No, wait—that’s not right. Was it Toto? Fifi?” Mr. Varrick stroked his chin as he tried to remember.

“Naga.” Asami said tightly. “Her name is Naga.”

“Naga! The four-legged hero of the Atalantic—you know, we’ll work on it.” Varrick sighed. It was too late in the evening and too darn cold for him to spin the tale properly. 

“Right.” Mr. Raiko huffed dryly. “Shall we head back to our brandy, then, gentlemen?” 

“Oh yes.” Several in the crowd murmured their agreement, still grumbling about the chill in the air. 

“Come on, Asami. You must be freezing.” Wu said with a slight frown as he stepped forward. Asami was surprised to say the least—but her surprise settled back to cold indifference when she felt the scarf dropped over her shoulders. “Let’s get inside.” 

And just like that—she was suffocating again.

“Are you really going to walk away without saying anything to Korra?” Asami demanded, unable to hold her tongue this time. 

Wu blinked at Asami, genuinely taken aback, and his dull green eyes darted to the lingering gathering of gentlemen and then his body guard for help. 

“Ahhh—?” Wu tilted his head.

“How about a little something for the girl?” President Raiko suggested dryly, clearly ready to put the entire episode behind him. 

Asami had actually been leaning toward an apology for the unnecessarily rough treatment, but she supposed an expression of gratitude could serve the same purpose seeing as she doubted Wu’s apologies were any more substantial than wind. They never had any weight. 

“Right. I got it.” Wu grinned, shooting Asami two finger guns as he spun in place and marched over to Korra who was still preoccupied with Naga. 

“Greetings—young Dawson woman of the third class.” Wu began with a sweeping bow.

Inwardly, Asami groaned.

“My name is William Upton Loquacious de Montawu, the Third—and I would like to thank you from the bottom of my heart for the great service you’ve done my house by rescuing my fiancé, here. I have got to say, I am your biggest fan.” Wu beamed, doffing his tophat. 

Asami’s heart stuttered when Korra’s blue eyes shot to her face, but she didn’t dare breathe. 

“And, to express my gratitude—a humble gift.” Wu opened his arms wide and lifted his chin up as if calling said humble gift from the heavens. 

Naga sniffed in the man’s direction and snorted, clearly not liking the smell. 

Wu kept his chin up and eyes closed and snapped his fingers. Zaheer appeared at Wu’s elbow to place a crisp twenty pound note in his gloved hand. 

“Right—there you are, my fine young hero. Get yourself something nice—maybe a leash for your wolf there.” Wu suggested as he leaned forward to slip the twenty pound note behind one of Korra’s suspender straps. 

Asami could see the way Korra’s jaw clenched, but she prayed the woman would have more sense than to throw it back or worse—somehow move against Wu. Zaheer was a tricky character, and brutal in ways that often made Asami shiver. 

Wu straightened, pleased with himself, and turned to bask in the approval of the society men. He held his head high and strutted like a peacock back to Asami. 

Asami kept her eye on Korra. The blue-eyed woman frowned as she tugged the twenty pound note free and glanced down at it. 

“I think that went well.” Wu said, drawing Asami’s attention. The gentlemen seemed to agree and turned to finally head back inside. 

Wu proffered his arm to his fiancé. “Shall we?” 

“Is something wrong?” 

The voice chilled Asami’s blood and her head whipped back around in shock. Zaheer was glaring down at Korra, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“No, nothing’s wrong—I’m just surprised, I guess.” Korra said as she got to her feet. Naga’s ears were back and she bared her fangs at the stoic body guard. 

“Surprised?” Wu froze and turned back around. “About what?” 

“That _this_ is the going rate for saving the woman you love.” Korra said, flicking the piece of paper with the frown still plastered to her face. 

Wu blinked as if he could not comprehend this. He turned to look at Asami and then turned again toward Korra—his movements were jerky, as if he were full of shorted circuits. 

“You—you are displeased with my gift?” It was a foreign concept to ‘the prince’. He was known to throw the most lavish parties, to shower his friends with the most expensive presents. It was one of the reasons he was so popular. One of the reasons he was always surrounded by adoring ‘fans’, as he liked to think of them. 

He could not believe this. 

“Would you prefer to be paid in silver pieces? Gold?” Wu asked, his rather bushy eyebrows furrowing. 

Korra’s blue eyes narrowed and Asami was sure she was going to say something even more inflammatory, so she reached out impulsively to put a hand on Wu’s arm, hoping to draw his attention. But just then Varrick reappeared.

“Hey, now—what’s the hold up, Wu?!” The eccentric man called, pulling up his fur-lined collar against the chill as he stomped back across the deck. “I’ve only got time for one more round of port before I’ve got to head up to the gym. I live by a very strict schedule you know—every night I have to do my Vari-calisthenics followed by thirty minutes of breath holding, otherwise I won’t fall asleep right away and if I don’t fall asleep right away, I might as well not even bother because my brain’s like a steam engine and it just keeps going and going…”

“I’m sorry, Varrick.” Wu apologized, sighing as he shook his head. “I’m just trying to settle a debt, and then I’m all yours.” 

“Settle what now?” Varrick demanded, his wild yet intelligent eyes seemed to widen as he finally took stock of the entire situation and saw Korra looking incredulously down at the twenty pound note and Naga growling up at Zaheer and Zaheer with his arms crossed solidly over his chest, keeping a sharp eye on them both. 

“Oh no—you can’t send the girl away now, Wu. She must come with us!” Varrick insisted, catching most everyone in the company by surprise.

“What?!” Wu gasped, his jaw dropping open. 

“I-wha—I-ahh?” Korra was less articulate. 

Asami’s heart dropped, but she managed to hide it by simply staring at Varrick for an explanation. She prayed to whatever spirits were watching that she had misunderstood Varrick—the thought of Korra surrounded by those insufferable grey haired men in the parlor made Asami sick. The poor girl would never make it out alive. 

“I _said_ , you must come with us of course, to regale us with your thrilling tale over brandy and cigars.” Varrick emphasized, sweeping his arms in a grandiose fashion as he stepped over to drop an arm over Korra’s broad shoulders. He produced a cigar seemingly from thin air and put it into her hand while Korra blinked in surprise.

“Oh—um, thank you?” Korra said sheepishly. Beside her Naga sniffed in Varrick’s direction and tilted her head to one side as if even she could not decide what to make of him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Varrick.” Wu said through gritted teeth, clearly starting to get upset. Asami was sure that at any moment the famous Montawu pout would make an appearance. It was how her fiancé usually reacted when things weren’t going his way. 

“The girl _can’t_ come with us for brandy and cigars.” Wu snapped. He had noted Korra’s rumpled appearance. Her rugged features and state of dress—those threadbare trousers needed a thorough washing. And that white button down shirt didn’t even have any lace around the collar. Wu was not averse to dolling out gifts to charity, but he could _not_ be seen with a steerage rat. 

Varrick snapped his fingers. “You’re absolutely right—forget the brandy and cigars!” 

Varrick snatched back the cigar he had given to Korra and threw it over his shoulder without a second thought. “That’s not the proper venue for the telling of such a gripping story—we’ve got to make it a dining event! Caviar, fine wine, stage lights and those annoying orchestra blokes for effect!” 

Varrick’s eyes got wider and wider as he got more excited. Asami glanced helplessly at Korra, surprised to find that the woman’s blue eyes were still fixed on her. 

“What d’ya say Miss Dawson? Would you like to come to dinner with us tomorrow night?” Varrick asked, shaking Korra a little roughly by the shoulders. 

Korra was still looking at Asami, and Asami was sure everyone could see the desperation in her face, in the way she clutched Wu’s arm and hadn’t taken a breath for a solid three minutes—but she couldn’t help it. She was terrified that Korra would accept the invitation—that she would be thrown to the wolves. But she was just as ferociously terrified that Korra would decline—Asami couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing the woman again. There was so much still yet to say—Asami hadn’t even had the chance to properly thank her for saving her life. 

Asami couldn’t be sure if Korra could read any of her inner turmoil in her eyes, but the young woman’s lips finally twitched up into a smile as she nodded slightly. 

“Sure. You can count me in.” 

“Wonderful!” Varrick exclaimed. “I can send a man for you tomorrow evening—it’ll be a night to remember, I can guarantee that!” 

Wu threw his arms up in exasperation, still seething over the fact that Korra had snubbed his gift. “Honestly—what is the world coming to? There are supposed to be rules about this sort of thing.”

“Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud, Wu.” Varrick laughed. 

Wu’s lower lip jutted out and he huffed as he tugged petulantly on his fiancé’s arm,

“Come on, Asami—let’s go. This has been the _worst night ever_.” 

Asami twisted as best she could to look over her shoulder, hoping to see one final flash of brilliant blue. She wanted to say something—something along the lines of thank you, I’m sorry, and thank you, but Wu’s guard dog Zaheer had stepped into her line of sight. Asami bit her tongue and looked away. 

She wasn’t in the least bit comforted by the knowledge that she would see her rescuer again tomorrow evening. 

There were too many hours stretching between now and then


	12. The Stowaway

Korra watched her mystery woman go, already feeling an ache in her chest that had _Asami Sato_ written all over it. Spirits, Bolin would never _believe this_!

Korra shook her head and glanced down to hide her smile from the broad shouldered man who seemed so intent on intimidating her. He had been glaring at her, unblinking ever since Varrick had stepped away. 

“You’ll want to tie those.” The body guard’s voice was low and menacingly bland. 

Naga let out a low snarl and snapped her teeth in the man’s direction. 

Korra hushed her dog and looked up to meet the man’s empty stare head-on. She had faced her share of bullies and supposed keepers of the peace in her day—they all had the same glint in their eye, a self-satisfied smirk and a hunger for power. This man felt no different, even if he gave off a sense of calm to hide the danger beneath. 

“Sorry?” Korra asked, cocking her head to one side. 

The bald man’s nostrils flared and he turned stiffly to grab Korra’s jacket from the nearby bench. He shoved the material into Korra’s arms, bringing their faces very close together. 

“Your shoes.” The bald man said calmly, though his lips quirked into a knowing sneer. “It’s seems odd, doesn’t it? The young lady slipped so suddenly—and yet you had the time to remove your jacket—and your shoes.” 

Korra couldn’t stop herself from glancing down at her boots. She’d stepped into them while Varrick had been pitching his dinner idea, but she hadn’t yet had the opportunity to tie the laces. They remained untied and quite obvious. Naga snapped at the bald man’s ankle, making him step back quickly, his calm veneer slipping for just a moment.

“You know, I do believe the White Star Line has a strict policy against beasts of a savage nature—” The bald man threatened less than subtly. 

Korra forced herself to smile while her hands clenched to fists beneath the material of her jacket. 

“Yeah, well if I see any I’ll let you know.”

Naga growled. 

The body guard shook his head with a chuckle as he reached up to adjust the collar of his uniform as if he were completely unaffected. 

“I will be seeing you tomorrow, Miss Dawson. I trust you don’t need my help to find your way back where you belong.” The body guard had a peculiar way of talking—his voice was so calm, so soothing despite the malic in his face. He reminded Korra of Mantanuska Lake in many ways. Korra’s father was always telling newcomers and tribesmen alike not to underestimate the lake, to remember that it was a power of its own. But every winter it’s surface went deceptively smooth like glass, the ice seeming so perfect—but beneath, the water was just as heart-stoppingly cold as ever. It was a quiet, patient kind of danger. 

Korra sensed the same in Zaheer.

It made her uneasy—thinking of someone like that working so closely with Asami. It made Korra wonder, quite suddenly and with a sinking, twisting feeling—what had made Asami so desperate that she would want to jump? What could have happened to make her feel she had no way out? 

The body guard bowed to Korra, and then left without a word, leaving the air tense and almost— _unsafe_. He glanced back over his shoulder once to give Korra one final taste of his oily sneer. 

Unease still gripped Korra’s insides as she watched Zaheer leave. Beside her, Naga let out a low snarl, baring her teeth. 

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Korra murmured. She dropped her hand down to pat Naga’s head. “Definitely don’t want to be seeing _that guy_ again.”

But Asami was a different story—Korra wanted _very much_ to see her again. And she would. Tomorrow night. They would see each other at dinner.

The notion made her flush with warmth and nerves and something that felt suspiciously like nausea. 

Naga snorted and butted her head into Korra’s leg, urging her forward. 

Korra chuckled and held her hands up in surrender as she started back across the deck, “Alright, alright—we’re going. I’ve had my excitement for the night, I promise.”

Korra was surprised that she met no other passengers on her way back to Steerage—much more time must have passed than she’d realized. Even the Third Class General Room was empty when Korra poked her head in. The tables were still littered with half-empty bowls of that night’s meal, and Naga surged happily forward as if she would feast on the left-overs, but Korra caught her by the scruff and pulled her back. She didn’t have an appetite. 

Korra ignored the disgruntled look Naga gave her and led the way back to their bunks, yawning. She hadn’t realized how tired she was—being around Asami, it had seemed like time had frozen. Like nothing else in the world mattered. Just them. 

Korra was brought rather cruelly out of her fantasies about the mystery woman named Asami when Naga let out a warning growl. 

“What is it gir—Ahh!” Korra tripped over something in the floor next to her bunk and stumbled forward, smacking her head against the wooden paneling. 

“Ow!” 

“Hey! Watch it!” 

Korra was further surprised by a sharp kick to the gut from someone in her bed. Naga growled again and would have lunged, but chose instead to steady her master as Korra was having trouble finding her footing. She crashed into someone’s trunk and would have spilled into the floor if Naga hadn’t snatched onto the hem of her coat.

“Hey, can you keep it down?!” A rude voice called from across the room. 

“Yeah, we’re trying to sleep here!” An equally angry voice hollered. 

“Sorry! Sorry, about that.” Korra whispered sheepishly as she leaned heavily against the wall to get her feet back under her. She straightened and glared around the hand she held to her throbbing temple, reaching blindly along the wall for the light switch. She kept her eyes on the lump in her bunk and took a sharp breath when her fingers finally closed over the little nobbin in the wall. 

“Ha! Gotcha!” Korra called in triumph as she turned the nob. 

Her action caused an immediate uproar from the other passengers and their whining and groans and curses were flung at her with abandon, but Korra only had eyes for the scrawny boy stretched out in her bunk. 

“Who the hell are you?!” Korra demanded, dropping her fists to her hips as she eyed the young lad up and down—he couldn’t be more than thirteen. 

“I could ask you the same!” The little scoundrel shot back from his warm nest of blankets. His accent had that distinct poorer London rhythm, but the fight in his eyes gave Korra the impression he could have come from any rough street.

“Korra! Thare ya’ are, love! I was wonderin’ when you’d ah—be gettin’ back!” Bolin’s voice came from the bunk above and Korra lifted her narrowed eyes to her friend’s sleepy face. He looked sheepish as he peered down at her; his hair was rumpled and stuck up in several places. 

“Bo, what the hell is this?!” Korra asked, gesturing with disdain to the young boy currently crowding her space. 

“Right, well—I was going to tell you, but—”

“Tell me what?” Korra interrupted, her jaw clenching when she saw that the boy’s grimy old boots were propped up on one of her open sketchbooks. 

“Look, don’ get mad—this is all jest a misunderstanding.” Bolin pled almost desperately as he struggled to get down from his bunk. 

“ _Misunderstanding_? There’s someone in my bed!” Korra pointed out indignantly. 

“Yeah, well, finders keepers.” Said someone in Korra’s bed yawned. 

"Alright, that’s it!” Korra growled, getting fed up enough to roll back her sleeves—she was tired and she was a little bruised and she was going to fight for her place if she had to, dammit. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Korra me girl—jest hold on there a second.” Bolin begged as he finally managed to plop down to the floor and grabbed onto Korra’s forearm. 

“Kai didn’t mean any a’ffence, did ya Kai?” Bolin prompted.

The boy, Kai, rubbed at the back of his neck and raised his shoulders as he plastered on a wide grin,

“Who me? Course not.” 

Korra’s eyes narrowed and her lower lip protruded slightly. 

“Then why is Kai _in my bunk_?” 

“Oh, right—well, ya see, tha’s a bit of a story—”

“It all started about six months ago.” Kai began, startling Korra right out of her conversation with Bolin. Kai, for his part, had crawled out of Korra’s bunk, but remained wrapped in her blanket. He looked rather pitiful with his rumpled curls on top of his head and his big, murky green eyes peeking out of the ratty, third class standard issue blanket.

“See, it had always been Pop’s dream to go to America, but we were always too poor to travel.” 

Korra frowned as she turned her head to listen to the boy, and she was surprised to see out of the corner of her eye that several of the other passengers in their room had stopped their grumbling to sit up and listen as well, most with thoughtful, sympathetic expressions.

“Pop always worked extra hard just to feed us, and he always promised that some day we’d live like Kings in America—and then, six months ago, he came home with the news that he’d gotten a raise at work and we could finally start saving for our trip. He was so excited, and we all started believing in that dream again. But then Ma got real sick, and Pop had to spend every cent we had on medicine for her—Ma and Pop meant everything to me. But I lost them a few weeks ago. I lost everything. Except for Pop’s dream. Go to America, he’d always say. Life will be so much better in America.”

“That’s so touching.” Someone in the back of the room sighed. 

“Yeah, idn’t tha’ something, Korra?” Bolin asked, nudging his friend with a hopeful look in his eyes. 

“Yeah it’s— _something._ ” Korra said dryly. At her side, Naga snorted in agreement, her ears flopping at the slight shake of her head.

“Tell her how ya’ got here.” Bolin encouraged the young storyteller—Korra swore she could see Bolin’s eyes glistening with tears of empathy and she had to sigh inwardly at her friend’s big heat—she should have guessed it right away. Bolin was always taking in strays—even if Naga usually scared them off, Bolin had been known to go without food just so he could leave a few crumbs out in the hopes that Smokey the rat or Pabu the ferret would be tempted back to their dingy campsite. It had annoyed Mako to no end, and he’d berated his brother for wasting food. Korra had been slightly more tolerant—she had noticed right away that Bolin was the type to give everything he had before thinking of himself. It was one of the things she loved about him. 

“After I lost Ma and Pop, I had nothing—nowhere to go. I tried to look for work down at the mill where Pop worked, but they said I wasn’t worth their trouble.”

“How cruel.” Someone sniffled from the back of the room. 

“I lived on the street for awhile—stole what I had to to survive. Made my way down from London. I heard on the road about this steamer, the one going to America, and I just knew I had to live Pop’s dream, no matter what.” Kai finished with a dip of his chin to bask in the oohs and ahhs from his bleary-eyed audience. 

Korra wouldn’t deny that the story affected her. She understood what it was like to be lost—she’d had to survive on her wits alone for a number of years. But she also knew where this was going, and she cringed as she let her eyes wander over to Bolin again.

“He’s a _stowaway_?!”

“Passenger of opportunity.” Kai corrected with a mischievous twist of his lips. 

Korra ignored him.

“Bo, I feel sorry for him too, but—we can’t harbor a stowaway. We _can’t_. I’m in enough trouble as it is.” 

“But he’s not a—wait, wha’du’ya mean you’re in trouble?” Bolin asked, it was his turn to narrow his eyes and look his friend up and down with suspicion. 

“Oh, well—that’s a bit of a long story too.” Korra admitted, her cheeks flushing at the memory of the mystery woman’s eyes—her vibrant, green eyes. 

“Hey! No more stories!” One of the grumpy passengers hollered from where he was trying to reorganize his mess of blankets and hunker back down. 

“Yeah, we’re going back to bed.” A girl called from somewhere Korra couldn’t see. 

“Turn that light out!” The voice carried a warning.

“Alright.” Korra rolled her eyes, “You don’t have to get all up in arms about it—”

“Gee, some people just have no patience.” Bolin said with a huff. He shrugged and half-saluted Korra as he turned to scramble as quickly as he could back up to the top bunk, “Right, well, I guess I’ll jest—”

“Oh no you don’t.” Korra growled, snagging the tattered ends of Bolin’s nightshirt. “You and I still have to figure out what to do about _the stowaway_.” 

“Passenger of opportunity.” Kai corrected with a yawn. He had already flopped back down on Korra’s bunk and kicked off his boots—now it was his grubby feet that were propped up on Korra’s sketchbook. 

“Korra, it’s late.” Bolin begged, trying to wriggle out of his friend’s strong grasp. “Can’t we jest sort it out in ta’ mornin’?” 

“Sure.” Korra said sweetly. “Just as soon as you get _the stowaway_ out of my bed.” 

“Ah, but Korra, he’s my new wee brother!” Bolin tried to protest. 

That gave Korra pause for a moment, but only a moment—she held onto her resolve and gave Bolin a slight shake. 

“Fine. Then he can sleep in your bed.” Korra turned her seething glare on the little scamp still stretched out on her bed. 

Kai lifted his head, as if surprised that the conversation had made its way back round to him again.

“What?”

Korra released Bolin so she could snap her fingers.

“Out.” She growled. 

He shrugged and threw back Korra’s blankets. “Eh, fine by me.”

The young passenger of opportunity wasted no time. He leapt out from Korra’s bunk nimbly and was up the ladder in a flash. But he still somehow managed to scatter several of her loose-leaf drawings. Korra cursed and knelt to snatched them back up.

“For the love of—turn the light off!” Someone shouted. 

“Just give us a damn minute.” Korra snarled back

“Oh, ahh, well—yeah, fine. Tha’s fine.” Bolin mumbled glumly as Kai clamored around trying to get comfortable up on the top bunk and shoved Bolin’s things over the side with a loud crash. 

Korra rolled her eyes. She used her foot to scoot Bolin’s things and what she assumed was Kai’s meager sack of belongings out of the narrow walkway to prevent any other late night walkers from taking the same kind of nasty stumble she had.

“Alright, everybody ready then?” Korra called, glaring toward the back of the large suite. 

“Ready?! What the hell are you waiting for?!”

“I swear, I’m gonna come down there and—"

“Spirits, would you please just—”

Korra flipped the light off before any more threats could be delivered. 

She then sidled around Bolin and plopped down on the edge of her bunk to set about untying her boots once again. 

“So—ah, where do I sleep?” Bolin asked, looking quite uncertain as he stood in the center aisle in his stained nightshirt and far too long striped pajama pants. 

Korra’s eyes flashed in the dark as she glanced up at her friend. 

“Sounds like something you should’ve thought about before inviting the stowaway over, huh?” Korra asked a little meanly. 

“Would you quit calling me that?!” Kai grumbled from above. 

“Yeah, I ahh—s’pose you have a bit of a point thare.” Bolin sighed. 

Korra sighed, already relenting. She never could stay mad at Bolin for long. 

She grabbed her pillow and tossed it to her friend, nailing him rather squarely in the face—purely because she was aiming in the dark, of course. 

“Here. You can have my bunk. I’ll share with Naga.” 

“Oh, wha—are ya’ sure?” Bolin asked even as he celebrated his triumph with a slight jig in the dark. 

Korra chuckled as she felt her way along the wall to the corner where Naga had wedged herself—it was a tight squeeze between steamer trunks and the sink. 

“Sure, I’m sure. Naga doesn’t even snore very loud, do ya girl?” Korra asked with a grin as she ran a hand along her large fluffy companion’s side. Naga snorted, but her tail thumped at least once. 

Korra tried to focus on warm thoughts of Asami rather than her cramped position as she stared up at the ceiling. She ran her hand absently along Naga’s front paw, listening to the squeaks and rustlings and sighs from sleepers all around her. 

“Say, Korra?” Bolin’s voice came in a whisper.

Korra’s lips twitched and she turned her head in the direction of Bolin’s shadow. 

“Yeah?” 

“Earlier, when ya’ said yer were in trouble—did ya’ mean tha’ bad kind o’ trouble or tha’ good kind?” Bolin asked a little hesitantly. 

Korra frowned and rubbed at her eyes, she could remember very distinctly that horrified look that had crossed Asami’s face when that man Zaheer had stepped forward, and there had been no disguising the disgust in the First Officer’s sneer. There was no question that she was dealing with anger and resentment—but she couldn’t deny that she would gladly face it again if it meant she’d get to spend even a few more minutes with those mesmerizing green eyes. 

“Not sure yet, Bolin.” Korra murmured in a hush. 

She could almost feel Bolin nod in the dark. 

“Right. Well, then—I’m sure it’ll get sorted in tha’ mornin’. Sweet dreams.”

“You too, Bo.” Korra whispered. 

She waited, holding her breath. 

It was only a few minutes before Bolin was snoring. 

Korra chuckled and snuggled back into Naga. 

Bolin had always been a heavy sleeper. She had no doubts he would’ve fallen asleep just as quickly on the floor, but for once Korra didn’t begrudge giving up her bed. 

Not when she knew there were sweet dreams to distract her from her discomfort—and they would all be about one Miss Asami Sato. 


	13. The Heart of the Ocean

Asami grew more and more agitated as the night wore on. She paced in her room, her shoulders tense and her thoughts spinning. 

But it wasn’t thoughts of brilliant blue eyes that set her heart pumping as fiercely as a Corliss steam engine—no, she’d already locked those _confusing_ feelings away. 

She was waiting for her father to return from the dining hall where he’d been drinking port and smoking cigars with the most prolific businessmen on the ship—she knew by now he would have been told of her— _accident_. Wu had gone up himself to make sure Hiroshi heard it from a reliable source. Gossip spread so quickly on the ship, and Wu kept insisting that he didn’t want ‘good old pop’ to worry. He was so insistent about relaying the news that Asami was safe. Locked back in her room and _safe_.

Almost _too_ insistent—too eager. So much so that Asami was pretty sure her fiancé had to have an ulterior motive beyond playing the hero. Something that would benefit himself. She highly suspected that it had something to do with Mr. Varrick—perhaps Wu was hoping to get the chance of pressing his point one more time, that the dinner tomorrow night simply could not include the steerage rat— _Korra_. 

Asami bumped into the edge of her vanity and reached out quickly to stop her music box from falling to the floor. Of all the items of luxury that surrounded her in this room, this was perhaps the only one that had any real, sentimental value. It had been a gift from her father, on her sixth birthday—the one that fell only a few months after her mother had died. Hiroshi had thrown an extravagant party, and with each passing year, those parties had grown more and more exuberant, as if her father were trying to make up for the fact that the person who always brushed Asami’s hair back for the occasion and wore a dress to match the birthday girl’s was absent—as if he could fill the emptiness that was left behind with more and more presents. 

Asami hadn’t bothered holding on to a single one of them—except for the music box. It played a tune her mother had loved to sing. Sometimes, Asami couldn’t quite remember the shape of her mother’s eyes, or the number of lines on her proud forehead—but she could _always_ remember the softness of her smile as she hummed this song, the way she would laugh and lift Asami up in the air when she came to the end, making her feel as if she were flying, buoyed up by her mother’s love. 

Asami had always appreciated the thoughtfulness of the gift.

But as she looked at it now, in her hands, her eyes welled with tears. 

Any moment now, her hard-working, caring, _wonderful_ father would come crashing into her room for answers—and the look in his eyes would be one of complete and utter _betrayal_.

She was absolutely dreading the thought of facing him after what she’d almost done. Wu might have accepted Asami’s excuses, but she knew her father wouldn’t be so easily convinced. Or quite as forgiving. 

Asami knew her father would need to ask _why_ —

Why the thing he had created was _so stubborn_. 

Why she would want to bring him _such shame_. 

Why she couldn’t have come to dinner like a _proper young lady_ instead of _running off_ to see the propellers— _why_ she’d tried to run away _again_ , from the life he had worked _so hard_ to secure for her. Dreams he had forged from blood, sweat, and iron. 

Why it was _never_ enough.

Why she continued to _hurt_ him. 

Just thinking of the confrontation made Asami feel sick to her stomach—just picturing his pained expression and the hurt in his eyes. 

Why couldn’t she be a better daughter?!

Asami’s heart leaped in her throat when she heard the heavy door to the suite creaking open. She sank down heavily on her cushioned stool, fighting tears, and held her breath. She clutched her music box to her chest and closed her eyes, waiting—

But the seconds ticked by and there was no knock on the door. 

Asami allowed a breath.

Minutes passed.

Asami slowly blinked her eyes open, her eyebrows furrowing as she glanced at the thin line of light creeping under her bedroom door. Carefully, she stood and forced herself across the carpet to stand at the door, straining to listen. 

She could hear the low murmur of voices, and then heavy footsteps. 

Asami’s hand flew up to her throat and she took a step back, but the shadows passed her by, without stopping. 

Asami was quite flabbergasted—she knew her father’s footsteps. They were slow, but deliberate, like a worn-down machine with a trusty engine. She was certain that had been him, not Zhu Li or anyone else. But he—hadn’t come to check on her. 

What did that mean?

Asami’s let out a shuddering breath as a tear slid down her cheek. She turned away from the door, suddenly exhausted, and crossed to replace her music box. She set it down heavily and swallowed thickly. She didn’t understand the mess of feelings in her chest—they were roiling and coiling around the familiar ache of her age-old grief, but the edges were sharp and the pain fresh. 

She lifted her eyes to blink at herself in the mirror, but started with a jolt when she saw a stranger staring back. She looked a fright, with her hair completely windblown, several curls crusted from the salt air—and her cheeks looked so pale. Almost bloodless. And her eyes—Spirits they were _wild_ and bloodshot. Shimmering with barely held back tears. 

Asami hardly recognized herself. 

She was suddenly glad her father hadn’t come in to see her—not like this. 

Asami closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She tried to think of something else, to distract from the twist of pain in her chest. 

What was it Korra had called her? Elegant.

She certainly didn’t look that now.

So much had changed in those few hours since she’d first seen and been seen by Korra—she felt as if the world had completed a full turn, as if she were on the brink of something completely new—she just didn’t know if it was for better or for worse. 

Asami reached up to brush a curl away from her eyes, and was startled by a knock at the door—one that sounded almost patterned as if it were meant to be musical.

Asami frowned and rubbed her arms as she crossed to the door. She still hadn’t heard her father’s usual care-worn step, so she anticipated one of the wait staff. 

“Zhu Li? Is that you?” Asami tentatively pulled the door open, and immediately wished she hadn’t. 

Wu had on his classic debonaire smile—the one that stretched far too wide for his narrow face. 

“Or course not, silly, it’s me!” Wu exclaimed with the usual flair, preening first one way and then the other. He was wearing a silky purple robe, one with sleeves that had been tailored to cushion his scrawny arms. 

When Asami failed to show the proper enthusiasm for having found her favorite fiancé at her door, Wu cleared his throat and quickly held out his hands, proffering a large black velvet box of some kind. 

“Let me in?” He asked with enough of a whine that Asami was seriously tempted to slam the door in his face, “I come bearing gifts.”

Wu wiggled his eyebrows as if that might make the offer any more desirable. 

Inwardly, Asami groaned. It was classic Wu—to think that all of life’s problems could be diverted with the touch of something shiny. 

Asami had only been acquainted with the prince for a period of a few months, but she had seen this mantra in action more times than she could count. Her fiancé threw gold at his servants to keep them fast-paced. He wore taffeta pantaloons and shiny pinky rings studded with rubies whenever he so much as walked out the mansion door. He insisted on carting around a huge safe full of his most expensive treasures, to pull out and admire on a rainy day. And he was always buying Asami diamonds and other such presents as if he could somehow distract Asami from the lack of any true substance to their relationship with a bit of razzle-dazzle.

Grudgingly, she stepped aside and opened the door wider—giving in to her strict upbringing. She’d broken enough rules today. She couldn’t bear to be _impolite_ on top of everything else.

Wu practically skipped past Asami, humming a tune as he came deep into Asami’s haven, casting his muddy green eyes into corners that were always meant to be private. 

“Oh! I just love the little Riguard bottles, don’t you? They’re just so—ugh, still don’t like that.” Wu announced as he fiddled with the perfume bottles on Asami’s vanity and pointed accusingly at the reflection of the Degas painting she’d had hung directly opposite. So she could study it in reflection as well as in perspective. 

Asami sighed and stepped away from the door, already fighting a headache. 

“Wu—what’s that for?” Asami asked pointedly, gesturing with her chin to the black velvet case he still clutched tightly to his side. 

“Oh, this?” Wu asked, his entire face lighting up in a devilish smirk as he cradled the box with both hands—he always was one for dramatic reveals. “This is just a little something to remind you of my…”

Wu paused as he twisted and turned, obviously looking for a grand enough altar for his offering. He elected to make use of Asami’s vanity, deftly sweeping all of her brushes and combs and perfume bottles out of the way—nearly knocking Asami’s music box right off. She darted forward to catch it, her heart leaping up in her throat. 

“There, that’s better. Here we are.” Wu observed as he set down the black box and stepped back, gesturing grandly for Asami to sit on her cushioned chair. 

She did, carefully sweeping her nightgown to one side as she sat daintily, and replaced her music box within reach. She righted a few of her perfume bottles as well, doing her best to reclaim her space. She could not refuse him entry, but she could try to pretend she still had some power. 

Wu hardly noticed. He tossed his head back and began again, admiring his own cut in the mirror behind Asami,

“This, my pet, is something I had intended to give you after the wedding next week, _but_ —” Wu reached around Asami to unlatch the lid and throw it back with his own sound effects, “Hiroshi and I both agreed that you could do with a bit of cheering up, so _voilà_!”

Asami stared down at the necklace—it was huge. Beautiful and dazzling. The gem in the middle was cut into the shape of a heart, but it glittered a dark, ominous blue. Asami could see her own pale face reflected back over a thousand times in the precise cuts along the surface—it looked like she was truly _drowning_ now. Growing smaller and smaller in the cold depths of the stone. 

“Isn’t it something?” Wu beamed, gazing down at the necklace with a proud shine in his eyes. 

“It’s certainly—overwhelming.” Asami managed to say. 

She couldn’t stop herself from thinking about Korra—about her particular hue of blue. The blue that had held her fast and steady—not left her spinning and drowning.

“Before you ask.” Wu said brightly, reaching down to take up the necklace with as much care as he could muster, “It is a diamond. 56 carats to be exact. Nothing but the best for you, my English muffin.” 

Wu excitedly wound the necklace around Asami’s throat as he spoke, wanting Asami to feel its weight—how expensive and precious it was. 

Asami caught the pendant in her hand and gazed down at it, her eyes going a little wide. She angled it to catch the light and her breath caught.

“The Le Coeur de la Mer,” Asami whispered, both astonished and disbelieving. 

“What was that?” Wu asked, still caught up in admiring his prize around Asami’s pale throat, the contrast of her soft features to the cut of the stone was quite stunning—it added a harder, tangible element to her elegance and beauty, which Wu had always considered almost surreal. 

“The Le Coeur de la Mer,” Asami repeated, running her finger along one of the sharp edges, “The Heart of the Ocean. That’s its name. This diamond was said to have been set into the headdress of the Warrior Queen Kyoshi.”

“I have no idea who that is,” Wu admitted, stroking his chin. 

Asami didn’t look up. 

“She was said to have ruled as straightforward as any man, harsh in battle but tender toward her own people. Many historians say she was cold—calculating. She believed in justice, no matter how cruel.”

“Ah! I see!” Wu interjected, squeezing Asami’s shoulders with a laugh, “So the diamond was the only thing she loved.” 

Wu was hardly one to take interest in history or the stuff of legends unless there was treasure involved. 

Asami shook her head, still mesmerized by the dark in the center of the diamond, the way it stole the light from all around her and seemed to draw her in to a place that was cold and lonely. 

“No. The stories tell of a great love. A woman’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets, and Kyoshi had many. They say she wore the diamond in honor of someone she loved—someone she loved and lost to the sea.” Asami explained, biting her lip as a bit of a blush crept across her cheeks. 

She was relieved when Wu blew a disgusted raspberry and crossed his arms over his chest with a petulant, “Well that’s depressing!”—glad that she hadn’t gotten too carried away and perhaps mentioned the darkest of the secrets, that the ‘someone’ Kyoshi the warrior queen had loved had been a woman—a rival with a constitution as harsh and untamable as the sea. The legends were full of violent passions, of entire islands crumbling into the sea beneath the weight of the wars the two women raged, of angry oceans swelling with the blood of the warriors lost on both sides. 

It was the kind of story Asami had read late at night, when the entire manor was quiet and asleep—when no one could judge her but the moon. 

She’d read it in the kind of magazine she could only get from the _seedy_ part of town, the kind that only printed a few hundred copies that were treasured and pored over and passed on—never read by candlelight. Her heart had always thundered with a wild brand of fear when the coveted, tatty rag finally made it into her hands—usually delivered by the daughter of the British museum curator. The one who had been Asami’s first fumbled and clumsy kiss. They had cried together when they shared the copy of the magazine that recounted Kyoshi’s tragedy—the story of the diamond she wore to honor the heart she had never conquered.

_All_ of those memories came flooding back now—memories Asami had tried, for her father’s sake, to repress. Memories of standing just a little _too long_ in the hall of statues, drinking in the breathtaking figures of Grecian and Roman women formed of marble and ivory. Of reading those risqué stories in the magazine just to feel a thrill the likes of which she’d never felt before. Of fumbling in the dark for the feel of another flurried heartbeat hidden somewhere beneath a tightly cinched corset—longing for something _more_. Something _real_.

The Le Coeur De la Mer was real. 

Asami could feel it heavy with warning around her neck—a reminder of doomed love. Beautiful, but tragic. So, so tragic. 

Asami realized Wu was watching her and she grudgingly glanced up from the diamond of legend, groaning when she saw the pout Wu had on his face.

“You don’t like it?” Wu asked, clearly hurt that his present hadn’t earned him hugs and at least a thousand kisses. “If I had known it was a cursed diamond, I would have gotten the other one the dealer kept trying to push off on me, the one from Africa.”

“No, no, it’s alright—I like it. I really do!” Asami said quickly, dropping the diamond so it would hang naturally, suspended just above her breasts. 

Wu’s pout dissipated instantly and he beamed. 

“Good! I hoped you would. I wanted to get you something fit for a queen.” Wu’s eyes gleamed as he raked his eyes over Asami’s reflection, already imagining even more finery he would buy for her to compliment the necklace—earrings, of course. A headpiece as well, a tiara really. And a pair of ivory gloves—to complete the ensemble.

All were gifts that would reflect back on his own greatness.

“You know what?” Wu exclaimed suddenly, chuckling brightly, “Let’s just forget all of that horrible legend stuff, okay? Because once we get to New York, it’s _nothing_ but the high life for us, Asami. We _are_ royalty.” 

In the height of his excitement, Wu dropped to his knees beside Asami and took up her hand to kiss it, overly eager to put that sour taste of the imaginary history of the diamond behind him, “There’s nothing you can’t have—you know that, don’t you, Sweet Pea? There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you.” 

Wu kissed Asami’s knuckles lightly and lifted his eyes up to her face, appearing for the first time completely unguarded—almost genuine. 

Asami’s throat went dry and her heart started pounding—until this moment, she had never been afraid of Wu. But now—now that she could see his true desires, she _was_ afraid. Wu wasn’t cruel, for all his insipid, thoughtless pandering, she could see no truly malicious intent in his murky eyes. But there _was_ something unkind in the way he desired her. He wanted her like he wanted his other treasures. He wanted to possess her. To flaunt her. 

Asami struggled to take a breath—struggled to make her lungs take in air when all they wanted to do was expel the screams she had been swallowing all this time. But even as she tensed to recoil, to pull her hand away from Wu’s grip, she felt the cold stealing over her heart—she thought of her father, of the hurt look in his eyes—and his worries for her future. 

_I won’t be around forever, Sweetie_ , he had said. _With Wu, you’ll always be safe._

And even though her thoughts flew, fleetingly, to Korra—to the incredibly strong and courageous stranger who had brought her back from the brink—she had to bow her head under the new weight of the diamond, and the warning it manifested. She could acknowledge that there was an ache in her chest, a longing of her own for the warmth of those arms she had known for less than three heartbeats, a desire to know more about those twinkling blue eyes and that devil-may-care smile—but she could _not_ indulge. 

It wasn’t safe. 

And she was afraid it might not _ever_ be.

So, swallowing thickly, and with Hiroshi’s warning still echoing in the back of her mind, Asami carefully covered Wu’s hand with her own. 

“Thank you, Wu.” She managed to whisper, even if her voice was hoarse. “I—I appreciate your kindness, and I—I will try to be better.”

Asami closed her eyes against the sight of Wu smiling up at her.

“I will try to open my heart to you.”


	14. A Cold April Morning

13 April 1912

Asami awoke with those words still weighing heavily on her chest. Promises that would absolutely break her to keep. 

She tried to take comfort from the knowledge that her father would be pleased—pleased to know that she was _trying_.

But her limbs still felt heavy as she rose from the bed and rang the bell. 

She could barely manage a smile when Zhu Li pushed in with her usual, “Good morning, Miss Sato.”

And she had absolutely _no_ appetite. 

But she forced herself to move, like a good machine, and went out onto the promenade where Wu was already indulging in his favorite breakfast fritters and aloe cucumber water. Asami’s heart clenched when she saw her father at the head of the table, sorting through all of the messages they’d received over the wire in the night. 

It was a familiar sight, her father absorbed in thought with an untouched mug of coffee steaming away—and Asami couldn’t help the urge she felt to wrap her arms around her father’s neck. To beg his forgiveness. To hold onto him until she woke up from this nightmare. 

But she forced herself to walk by him without slowing, to go to her chair down on his left as a lady would. Though she did allow for her fingers to brush his coat sleeve, just to establish some form of contact—it was all she could do not to cry when he didn’t look up.

“Good morning, Father.” Asami whispered, almost hoping that he wouldn’t hear her. 

She had been filled with doubts all the night through—trying to understand her father’s silence. She had avoided catastrophe with Wu, she knew that. But she still had no idea what her father believed of her. 

Asami’s lower lip trembled as she settled into her chair, too afraid to meet Hiroshi’s eyes.

There was the rustling of paper missives and the capping of a pen, and then Hiroshi cleared his throat as he set aside his letters of business and took up his mug of coffee. 

“Yes, good morning, Princess. How are you this morning?” 

Asami let out a quiet breath of relief and had to close her eyes for a moment to keep back tears of joy—for the first time in what felt like _years_ , she could feel the sunlight on her skin.

“I’m—I’m better.” Asami managed, “Definitely better.”

“Good.” Hiroshi nodded and took a sip of coffee before taking up his letters again. “I am glad to hear it.”

Asami let herself relax and lifted her green eyes to the sun. 

There was still a shadow lurking in her chest—still a deep-seeded misery that she was starting to think she would never shake, but she could at least force a smile now. 

At least she could close her eyes and feel the sun.

At least she knew her father still loved her. 

“Here you are, Miss.” Zhu Li murmured as she stirred the milk into Asami’s coffee. “Is there anything else I can fetch you?”

“I think I could do with another omelet! I don’t know what they put in these eggs, but they are to _die for_!” Wu exclaimed, grinning broadly as he waved his empty plate towards Zhu Li. 

“That would be roasted vegetables, cardamom, and saffron.” Zhu Li answered dryly. 

“Saffron?” Wu exclaimed less eagerly, his eyes widening as he glanced down at his stomach as if expecting it to explode, “I’m _allergic_ to _saffron_!”

Wu suddenly pushed away from the table and hugged his abdomen in a dramatic show of exaggerated pain, almost falling completely out of his chair, “Call the medic! I can’t breathe! I’m having an allergic reaction! Wu down!”

Asami half-rose from her chair in concern, but felt a chill race up her spine when the shadow to her left flickered and moved—and Zaheer materialized. She hadn’t even noticed him lurking about when she’d entered.

“There’s no need for alarm,” Zaheer assured the wait staff and Asami as he circled around the table to grab his master roughly by the scruff. “The prince is allergic to ginger, not saffron.”

“Oh.” Wu immediately stopped writhing and allowed himself to be lifted back into his chair. “Ginger, huh?”

Zaheer nodded as he stepped back.

“I’m always getting those two mixed up.” Wu explained with a hearty laugh, “Oh well! False alarm—the omelet’s are safe! And I’d like another, please! Chop, chop!” 

Wu snapped his fingers to express the urgency with which he expected his desires to be addressed. 

“Honestly, Wu—” Hiroshi grumbled setting his empty coffee mug back into its saucer with an audible clatter. 

“Let me take care of that for you,” Zaheer said smoothly as he stepped forward and took up Hiroshi’s empty cup before Zhu Li or the other waiter got the chance. 

“Good man.” Hiroshi beamed before taking up his pen to respond to his missives. 

Asami watched all of this take place with dread slowly seeping back into her limbs—leeching out the warmth she had felt mere minutes before. 

She had never liked Zaheer. There was something about him that made her want to steer clear; and fortunately, she had had very few interactions with her fiancé’s bodyguard. He had kissed her hand, once, when Wu introduced them, but more often than not, Asami tried to avoid his eyes—tried to convince her heart that she was not in any danger when he was present. 

She had never seen the man step out for anyone but Wu. 

And to see this casual exchange now between her father and someone who _felt_ so dangerous—Asami wasn’t sure what it meant. 

She almost jumped when she felt Zhu Li’s gentle hand on her shoulder,

“Miss Sato? Are you alright?” 

Asami swallowed and forced the edges of her mouth up into that familiar stretch of what could pass for a smile. 

“Of course—I think this toast will do me just fine, Zhu Li. Thank you.” 

The maid nodded and scurried away to retrieve those items the pretentious prince had requested.

Asami sipped her coffee and tried not to feel stifled in the silence. Even with the sunlight streaming in—she felt cold. 

Cold and listless. 

Subconsciously, Asami’s free hand lifted to her throat—she was so sure she would feel the chain and diamond. But she had asked Wu to take it away last night, to lock it back in the safe. She could not blame the necklace for the deep chill in her blood. 

It was as if she had never known the sun at all. 

“Mmm!” Wu exclaimed with a hearty smack of his lips as he finished his aloe cucumber water. “They sure know how to take care of royalty on this ship”

“Mhmm. I’m sure.” Hiroshi muttered as he continued to pen his responses. 

Asami looked to her father again and again, but he only seemed to remember to glance up when Zaheer reappeared to set down his refilled coffee cup.

“Ah, yes, thank you, Zaheer.” Hiroshi said more pointedly, setting aside his pen to reach for refreshment. 

“Careful, sir—it is still hot.” Zaheer intoned in his usual, somber voice. 

Asami’s frown deepened—that uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach was twisting, hardening—she could feel its weight. 

“You know, I think I’ll head down to the barber later, just for a trim, you know? I really want to look my best this evening, I’ve even booked a tea leaf wrap. Have you ever had a tea leaf wrap?” Wu barely slowed down to acknowledge Hiroshi’s scowl and shake of the head, he forged on, describing the intricacies of the massage and all its benefits, his eyes lighting up with excitement as he went on and on.

Asami could feel that ball of unease widening slowly, it seemed to be pressing against her ribs, filling her chest up with cold and making it hard to breathe. Her fingers twitched lightly—she was sure that if she didn’t get away soon her eyes would glaze over. 

When Zhu Li reappeared, laden with more pleasantries and bringing with her a breath of fresh, salty air—Asami somehow found the strength to push gently away from the table. She took up her coffee cup and saucer and carried it to the sideboard while Wu was caught up in the middle of another one of his grandiose compliments about the omelets and fritters. 

“And where are you off to?” 

Asami froze at her father’s voice, but she refused to turn around too quickly—she had heard the carelessness in his tone. And though it brought stinging tears to her eyes, Asami knew that her father didn’t truly care for her answer—he was only looking for distraction. 

“To see Opal.” Asami tossed over her shoulder as she set down her breakfast things—she forced her hands to remain steady, as she finally turned around, her breath catching—

But Hiroshi’s attentions were already redirected, signing his name along the bottom of a wire request. 

Asami almost wished he would look up—would look up and see the lie in her eyes. That he would try to stop her even—but he didn’t. 

“Opal?” Hiroshi muttered, his eyebrows furrowing as he worked out a sum in his head and recorded the appropriate figure, “Yes. She seems a sweet girl.” 

“Of course, yes, she’s sweet enough—nothing like that aunt of hers, though. What a stick in the mud!” Wu laughed. 

“I enjoy her company.” Asami forced through gritted teeth. 

“You know, I do too.” Wu chatted on, leaning back in his chair as he swirled his glass to watch the cucumber slices in his aloe water dance, “You should invite her for a tea leaf wrap, Asami, they’ve become quite popular as a social event. Varrick’s joining me later for mine—and I’m pretty sure I’ve just about convinced Raiko’s wife to try it out—now _there’s_ someone that could use a bit of rejuvenation, let me tell you.”

“Perhaps some other time,” Asami said as she forced her legs to move—to get around the sideboard and that much closer to the door. 

“Oh, well—at least think about it.” Wu pouted.

“Right.” Hiroshi suddenly spoke, startling Wu enough to draw his attention away from his plate and nearly give Asami a heart attack. She froze inches from the door and turned back to the table where her father was straightening his papers. 

Hiroshi’s eyes lifted and he seemed bewildered to discover that he held the attention of the entire room—even the servants had paused in their silent tasks, as if afraid their breathing would be intrusive. 

“Oh right—well, carry on,” Hiroshi muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he pushed away from the table and gathered his letters and notices. “Zaheer, if you could deliver these, I’d be much obliged. And Asami—”

Asami’s heart stuttered, but her father only spared her half a smile,

“Try not to be late for dinner.”

The words landed like a physical blow, making Asami wince and take a sharp breath all at the same time. And the worst part was—her father had no idea. 

No idea just how close she was to breaking. 

It was all Asami could do not to flee from the room. Her legs seemed to wobble, but she somehow managed to keep herself upright as she inclined her head to acknowledge her father’s words. His wishes that had sounded more like orders.

Only Zaheer seemed to notice her effort. 

Asami swore she could feel his dangerous grey eyes boring into her even after she made her escape. 

It made her run all the faster. 


	15. And So We Meet Again in the General Room...

Worlds away, in Third Class, Korra too had woken with a particular weight on her chest—but that weight had simply been Naga. 

And after no small feat of maneuvering, swearing and shoving, Korra was free to breathe again. To sit, wedged between the dripping sink and the wall, with a thousand aches and pains protesting throughout her cramped and tired body, somehow still feeling _warm_. Incredibly warm. From her head to her toes. As if the sun had finally come out after days and days of darkness. 

And it was a bright day. 

Just as bright as the day before and yet—something had changed. Korra could feel it. 

Even if it seemed like no one else could. 

“I’m telling you, Bo, it was—electric.”

Korra had spent those breathless hours of waiting for Bolin to wake up sketching—or at least, _trying_ to sketch what had been so vivid and _real_ in her dreams. Piercing, petal shaped eyes—bright, but haunted. Sharp, inquisitive eyebrows. A lower lip that trembled. All parts of her mystery woman turned runaway heiress. The woman who’d seemed hellbent on following after her yellow hat right into the frigid waters of the Atlantic. 

But that was the bit that left Korra too nervous to eat, even after she’d dragged a yawning and grumbling Bolin into the General Room for breakfast—the fact that her mystery woman was no longer a mystery. Her name was _Asami_. Asami Sato.

It was a small thing, a name. And yet—it felt like the beginning. 

Korra had spent the better part of an hour meticulously recounting the events that had transpired on the stern deck, from the heart-stopping to the pulse-pounding, from the moment she’d seen her mystery woman running like a phantom from her glittery life to the moment the same woman had strained to look over her shoulder as she was led away, to share one last look of longing. 

“Longing?” Bolin scoffed, “Are ye shore she didnae jest want ta be shore tha’ big body guard didnae kill ye?” 

Korra couldn’t be sure if she was going over the most monumental moment of her young life more for Bolin’s benefit or her own. She’d awoken to that weight on her chest, yes, but also to a bit of dizziness in her head. Her meeting with Asami Sato had been an earth-shattering event. Every look, every touch, every—every _word_ that the beautiful, rebellious first class woman had uttered had been engraved on her heart. And she had the sneaking suspicion that she would still be feeling the after-shocks decades from now, maybe even longer. 

When she died, someone may cut her open and find the words, _oh, it’s you, the pirate_ tattooed on her heart.

But Korra felt a need to share the details of what she’d experienced with someone else. In a way, she thought that might make it more real. Might help her see things more clearly. 

And Bolin had always been her biggest supporter. A true friend that she could lean on. 

“When she took my hand, I could feel it, Bolin. It was like—the whole world stopped for a second and everything became _so clear_. The stars. Her eyes. How small the space between us really is—” 

“Now, don’ be sayin’ things like tha’.” Bolin grumbled with a serious hint of worry creeping into his deep green eyes. “Tha rules don’ change jest because we want ‘em too.”

“Bolin, she _defended_ me.” Korra insisted, leaning far across the table as if by increasing their proximity she could increase the chances her friend would understand, “In front of all of those pompous puffed shirts—she didn’t look down at me the way they did.”

“Yeah, yeah. If ye say so.” Bolin grumbled. 

He looked slightly more disgruntled than usual, with his hair all ruffled and out of place. He’d been plagued by a particularly cruel nightmare. He’d seen himself setting about a lovely picnic with his own mystery girl, enjoying their rainbow sprinkles and star ice cubes, when out of the sky there had come a large, angry, fire-breathing dragon and he’d sat up so quickly in Korra’s bunk that he’d bonked his head—

And now Korra was regaling him with a tale of her own good fortunes, in which the proverbial angry dragon had been thwarted and an invitation to dinner extended, all in that excited voice of hers and his head wouldn’t stop throbbing and his new little brother Kai had practically inhaled all of the marmalaide before Bolin had even gotten a chance to lather up his toast. 

Bolin sighed and squinted again toward the nearest porthole and the sunlight streaming in. He really didn’t want to begrudge Korra her happiness. 

But his morning was not off to the best start. 

The General Room seemed full to capacity this breakfast hour, loud and boisterous. While there were many who were content to go about their meal quietly, there were plenty of families nearby. Fathers with their stern scoldings and mothers with particularly fussy babies. There were larger children running and playing between the benches, a few young girls here and there reading or doing needlework while a small gang of boys tried to clobber a spider in the corner with a tatty shoe. It was a caucophany of sound, hundreds of conversations happening all at once in more languages than Bolin had the patience to try to count at this hour in the morning. There were old women chatting as they scraped the plates and pots clean, while in the far corner a group of even older looking men argued over their coffee. 

Thankfully, no one as of yet had settled down in front of the piano to try pounding out a tune. It was already too loud and close for comfort. 

“Her hands were so _strong_! I mean, you’d have thought her hands would be all soft and smooth, seeing as she’s a lady and all, but she had callouses!” Korra was saying, enamored.

“Now wait jest a’ minute!” Bolin interjected, finally rousing himself enough to wag a finger at Korra, though he kept one sure hand on his coffee cup. It was becoming increasingly clear to Bolin as he actually spent more time with him awake and alert, that Kai had quick hands. He’d already pinched Bolin’s jacket potatoes, and while Bolin didn’t particularly mind losing those tasteless vegetables, he did feel very strongly about his need for coffee.

“Yore tellin’ me tha’ this, Asari Sato—”

“Asami.” Korra corrected.

Bolin waved his hand, “Right. _Asami_. Yore tellin’ me tha’ firs’ class lady Asami Sato had rough hands?”

“Well, I—I wouldn’t necessarily call them _rough_ ,” Korra stammered, blushing even though she didn’t know why. Beneath the table, she clutched her sketchbook a little more tightly, as if afraid someone might see her failed attempts to do those incredible hands justice, “They just—seemed like maybe she uses them a lot. You know. For—for more than folding napkins or playing a harp.”

“Rich people play harps?” Kai asked as he munched on a stolen piece of fruit. 

Korra glared across the table at the little stowaway. 

She’d seen him nicking scraps from unattended plates up and down their table. 

Luckily, she had Naga keeping watch over her own bowl of porridge—not that she was in any state to eat at a time like this. Her stomach was full of knots. 

“I don’t know,” Korra growled. “Probably.” 

Kai bit loudly into his apple and the juices ran down his chin as he chewed, deep in thought. 

“But I thought it was angels that played harps.” Kai drawled off-handedly, eyeing a leather purse that had been brought out into the sunlight as a young passenger nearby sifted through the contents of his knapsack. 

Korra turned her head sharply to glare down at Bolin who was sitting with his shoulders hunched dejectedly. 

“Why is he still here? You know he shouldn’t be out in the open like this!” 

“Oh, yeah, well—I know tha’, Korra.” Bolin blustered, “But tha lad’s gotta eat, hadn’ he?” 

Korra opened her mouth to retort, but just then she heard a happy bark from Naga and only just had time to swivel in her seat to find herself on the receiving end of a bone-crushing hug from Ikki, Jinora, and Meelo. 

“Korra!” The children shouted. 

“Well, hey, kids.” Korra groaned, happy, but short on air.

“Good morning.” Jinora offered, stepping back to allow their new friend space to breathe.

“Korra, we’ve got so much to tell you!” Ikki squealed, practically jumping in place in excitement. 

“I’m starving, where’s my food?!” Meelo grumbled, able to focus on his stomach now that Korra had been hugged and Naga petted. 

“Well good morning to you too.” Korra chuckled, chuffing Meelo lightly on the head. “I think the line’s gone down a bit—you can go right up to the window over there.” 

“Oh! They’re having porridge this morning!” Ikki exclaimed when she noticed another passenger making her way to a table with a steaming bowl. “I love porridge! Especially with cinnamon!”

“Hi.” A timid voice drew Korra’s attention from watching Meelo’s progress as he ran toward the kitchens with his arms outstretched for maximum speed, and she turned with a slight frown to see that Kai had sidled up to a blushing Jinora. 

“Hi.” Jinora offered in response, glancing away and reaching up to fiddle with her kerchief. 

“My name’s Kai.” Kai offered, sliding his thumbs up and down his suspender straps as he rocked back on his heels, “Do you know where to go? For your breakfast?” 

Jinora nodded slightly, still bashful and unwilling to look at Kai for more than a few seconds at a time, “I’m Jinora. And—yes. I think so.” 

“Oh.” Kai said, deflating a little. 

Korra raised an eyebrow and glanced pointedly at Bolin—but her friend was too busy staring slack-jawed at the meet-cute unfolding before him to notice. 

“But,” Jinora said slowly, and Kai’s head snapped up, “My mother isn’t feeling well today, so I need to take her a tray…”

“I can carry a tray!” Kai said eagerly. “No problem!”

He held up an arm and pushed up one of his grubby sleeves, “I’m strong!”

Jinora just blushed even redder and looked away again, but she was smiling now. Shy and sweet. 

“Well, would ya’ look at that?!” Bolin whispered in a voice far too excited to be a whisper as the two children strode off together, “Tha’ boy’s got more moves than ye do, Korra.” 

Korra rolled her eyes and huffed, “That is not even remotely—” 

“Korra, we saw the pretty lady!” Ikki interrupted.

The child had been patient thus far and had held her news inside like a secret, though she had been dying to share it from them moment they’d seen their friend and her mountain of a dog sitting at their usual table. But when she hadn’t been given the proper opening, she exploded with it, her eyes bright and her words immediately followed by one of her breathless giggles. 

Korra’s expression immediately softened as she turned her attention away from Bolin, “That’s pretty amazing! I saw her too, Ikki. I got to _meet_ her.”

Ikki gasped, her eyes growing even wider. The rest of her incredible news was quite suddenly forgotten, “ _Wow!_ Really?”

“Yep.” Korra grinned, “Her name’s _Asami_. And I get to have dinner with her tonight.”

“Wow.” Ikki breathed again, her eyes dreamy and hopeful. But then she seemed to have a dark thought and she shook her head violently, “Wait, tonight?! You’re having dinner tonight?!”

“Well, the detail’s do seem a bit stodgey.” Bolin pointed out, and Korra elbowed him hard.

“Shut up.”

“What? Ye said she called ya a pirate!”

“I said _shut up_!” Korra hissed.

“But tonight’s too soon!” Ikki wailed, seemingly oblivious to the subdued quarrel between the friends. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head vigorously, “How’re we supposed to have the love potion ready in time?”

Korra laughed at the child’s sincerity, but had to lift her hands to try to calm her, “Whoa, whoa, whoa—It’s alright, Ikki. I don’t think I need the love potion—”

“I think ya need all ta help ye ken get.” Bolin mumbled. 

“Do you _want_ me to break your nose?” Korra growled, suddenly pushing away from the table and roughly grabbing Bolin by the collar to drag him up to eye level for a piercing glare.

She didn’t mean it. Not really. 

And she knew Bolin knew she didn’t really mean it. 

But for some reason the rest of the General Room had fallen silent. Even the old men in the corner who never paid anyone else any attention had let their coffee go cold. 

Korra frowned and turned to follow several pairs of wide eyes to the door—and felt her heart screech to a full stop.

There, looking as beautiful and captivating as ever, was Asami Sato.

“That’s what I was gonna tell you.” Ikki whispered, just to Korra’s left. “She was coming this way.” 

Asami, for her part, seemed suddenly self-conscious as she swept her eyes over the room. She was wearing a simple sun dress, a pastel pink one at that, but everyone was staring—and they were exactly the kind of stares she’d met before on the streets of London. Some with awe, and others resentment. And her father’s voice seemed to grow loud in her mind, scolding her to rise above, to be proud of her station. Because the sundress her maid had chosen this morning on a whim had cost what would be considered a small fortune to these poor passengers, and in her state rooms every piece of finery she had brought was kept in mint condition. She knew none of the grime and dust that coated these parts of the ship.

She didn’t belong here. 

She had been relieved, to say the least, when she’d first caught sight of Korra, lounging again with her shoulders relaxed and her eyes bright as she’d talked animatedly with a small girl—it had given her the chance to admire the blue of her eyes. Her shirt was red today, but once again loose and open at the neck—but Asami’s moment of quiet indulgence, admiring the woman she’d broken at least twenty of her father’s rules to come see, had been completely shattered when Korra had transformed before her very eyes from the picture of calm and relaxation, to irritation and overall— _strength_. 

In a startling turn of events, Korra’s crystal clear blue eyes had turned stormy and she’d rounded on her friend—the rather broad-shouldered, and sturdy looking young man to her left—and she’d lifted him as easily as if she’d been picking up a pitcher of water. 

Asami may or may not have felt her knees go a little weak.

She may or may not have also let out a breathless gasp. 

Fortunately, the sound of Opal’s worried voice in her ear was enough to snap her back to her senses before she could make an even bigger fool of herself by swooning on the spot. 

“Are you sure this is the right place? Maybe we should go.” Opal hissed, sticking as close to Asami as was considered appropriate. Unlike Asami, Opal was quite new to being out and about in Society. Her mother had only just started allowing her to attend acceptable functions for a girl of her station, let alone ever mixing with the common folk. 

She wasn’t used to being the center of attention. 

The tremor of fear in Opal’s voice struck a chord somewhere deep in Asami’s chest and she found herself lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, as if trying to make her shadow larger, bolder, so she could protect her friend. 

“Nonesense. Just follow my lead.” Asami whispered before she plastered on a smile and took several deliberate steps into the room. 

“Miss Ah, Dawson! Good morning.” Asami called as casually as she dared. 

Korra had been staring with her mouth open, and when Bolin shifted slightly, he slipped without a fight from her grasp—not that that was his intention. He too looked as if he’d seen a princess stepping out of a pumpkin. He still felt as if he were floating even after his feet touched the floor. He stepped closer to Korra, reaching up as if in a trance to try to smooth his hair,

“Is that—” Bolin gasped.

“Yep.” Korra whispered.

“Wow.” They breathed together.

Ikki made herself known then by poking Korra between the ribs. 

Korra reluctantly tore her eyes away from Asami—Asami _Sato_ —and blinked owlishly down at the child. 

“Well say something!” Ikki hissed. 

“Oh.” Korra nodded, and almost choked on all the words that wanted to rush out as she stiffened and turned again toward Asami,

_How are you? How did you sleep? Who is Zaheer and why is he with you? How are you? Did you dream about me?_

“Hello, again.” Korra somehow managed to croak. 

A few feet away, Naga let out a snort, unimpressed. 

Asami’s green eyes flitted to the large white dog and her stiff smile softened immediately, “Good morning, Naga.” 

“Oh my gosh!” Opal gushed, “Your dog is so _cute_!”

Naga tilted her head then, apparently surprised by the characterization, one ear pert and alert while the other flopped. She sniffed in the direction of the newcomers, but didn’t whine or bark. Instead, her tail thumped loudly on the floor. 

“Hey!” Another small voice broke through the hush, this time it was Meelo,

“Why is everybody being so weird when I’m _trying to eat_?!” The little ruffian demanded with a haughty look in his eye as he glared about the room. He had a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, and a mountain of food piled up in front of him, but had as of yet been unable to take even a single bite because of the drama unfolding in the General Room.

Korra laughed then, and her smile turned into a grin when she heard Asami laughing too—but when she tried to catch her eye, the lady looked away. Korra thought she saw the tint of a blush on Miss Sato’s cheeks—but Bolin’s skepticism had her doubting herself. 

She stuck her hands in her pockets and bit her lower lip, angry at herself for suddenly feeling nervous.

Maybe Bolin was right—that stowaway Kai really did have better moves.

All around them, the other breakfast goers reluctantly turned back to their various activities, though many continued to cast curious glances toward the glittering ladies from First Class every so often. 

Korra swallowed thickly, trying to talk herself into breaking the silence. She stared hard at the floor beneath her boots for another minute, going over each word carefully, and then looked up with new determination, only to find that Asami had recovered first. 

“May I speak with you?” Asami asked before Korra had a chance to voice whatever was on her mind. “In private?”

Korra’s eyes widned slightly, but she nodded vigorously, “Uh, yeah—sure. I mean, of course. Yeah. Just, ah—”

Korra reached over and snatched up her notebook from the bench and then patted at her pants pockets for the reassuring feel of her pencils before glancing up at Asami’s curious stare with a sheepish grin,

“—ah, after, after you.” Korra gestured toward the exit. 

Asami nodded and took all of one step before she froze.

“Opal?” Asami turned, “Will you be alright here?”

“Here?!” Opal squeaked, “You want me to stay—”

“I could keep ye company.” Bolin offered, almost tripping over his own large feet to step forward. He offered his most confident smile that turned incredibly soft when he finally got an unobstructed look at the young lady’s face—she was even more beautiful than he’d dreamed, “’T would be an honor.” 

“I’ll only be a minute.” Asami added, even though she could see that Opal’s fears were already fading as she gazed up at the burly teddy bear of a man. 

“Okay.” Opal said, offering a timid smile. 

Bolin let out an excited gasp and half a jig before he stepped back and made a sweeping gesture, offering Opal a place at their table where Ikki and Meelo were already tucking in. 

“Opal, what a lovely name.” Bolin started conversationally. “My name’s Bolin, by t’e way.” 

Opal giggled and accepted the hand that was held out to her. “Opal, Opal Beifong, but—oh, you already knew that.” 

Korra cleared her throat, drawing Asami’s attention again and gestured toward the exit with movements that were more stilted than sweeping, “Miss Sato.” 

Asami’s lips twitched up into a smile and she shook her head, practically nudging Korra herself.

“Oh no, Miss Dawson, after you.” 


	16. Friends Share Secrets

Korra’s heart felt as if it were going to pound right out of her chest as she walked with Asami Sato—well, ‘walked’ was a general term. Korra found that in her element, Miss Sato seemed to glide. To soar. She was elegance incarnate. 

Korra considered pinching herself several times, to be sure she wasn’t just daydreaming, but then Asami would pierce her with those blazing green eyes and the _tha-thump_ _ba-bump_ of Korra’s own heart against her ribs would grow just painful enough to convince her she was in fact awake and living in the moment. 

She didn’t want to take a single one for granted. 

Asami had assured her friend that she’d only be a minute—but they ambled for what felt like hours. Chatting about the most— _mundane_ things. As if there were no hurry at all. As if, the whispered ‘I’ll only be a minute’ had been a mere formality already forgotten. 

Korra didn’t mind. She let Asami lead her down corridors and up several flights of stairs onto the boat deck, out into the sun, and she felt, with a striking pang of clarity, that she would follow Miss Sato anywhere. Those words she’d spoken in the heat of the moment—they were still true. 

_You jump, I jump._

As they walked about in the open air, Korra found herself growing more and more intrigued by the woman named Asami. It seemed she was quite a sneaky conversationalist—able to ask the right questions, to keep even the most mundane topics alive and interesting far longer than Korra imagined things like the weather and quality of the steerage food deserved. But it was more than that, for even after they moved into more personal territory, Asami had the keen ability to turn every question Korra tried to send her way aside and keep the focus on Korra herself. It was almost maddening, but Korra was already so grateful to have made it this far—to know Miss Sato’s name, to be walking with her in broad daylight, to be telling her about memories she’d kept to herself for so long it felt like sighing every time she mentioned Alaska. It was soothing. Asami had a way of listening with her entire face as they walked, and Korra found herself falling more and more into those green eyes. 

It made her more determined to know her better. 

But beyond the easy flow of conversation, Korra was keenly aware of prying eyes. Out on the boat deck, there were many passengers lounging in steamer chairs, or chatting the breeze—many of whom were closer to Miss Asami Sato’s station than her own. They all cast curious glances, but their eyes lingered longests on her threadbare clothes. On her smudged fingers and scuffed boots. They knew she didn’t belong. 

Korra caught herself slowing down and distancing herself slightly, as if afraid one accidental brush of shoulders or hands might stir up an angry mob to come save the lady in distress—or worse, call for the Master at Arms to clap her in chains. She wanted to prolong the inevitable for as long as possible. 

Asami didn’t seem to notice the growing divide until Korra came to a full stop, only then did the lady in pink turn to look at her fully. She didn’t ask, but Korra could see the surprise in the slight lift of her eyebrow. 

Korra swallowed around the sudden dryness in her throat and tapped her sketchbook against her thigh a few times to try to center herself as she forced a smile,

“Well, Miss Sato,” Korra started, hoping she’d find her courage as she went on, “we’ve walked about a mile by now up and down this boat deck and I feel like I’ve talked myself hoarse going on about the weather and where I grew up, and that’s been great, believe me, I—I’ve enjoyed talking and walking with you, I just—I get the feeling there’s something on your mind. And if I’m honest, I kinda wish you’d just come out and say it.”

In full daylight, Asami’s eyes were a soft green, and they flashed as she tilted her head,

“You do? That’s very forward, isn’t it?”

Korra resisted the urge to roll her eyes, “I’m not very good at small talk.” 

Asami’s eyes seemed to narrow, but Korra liked to think it was out of curiosity, not annoyance. She was relieved, to say the least, when Asami allowed a wry smile,

“No, I suppose you are right, Miss Dawson. After all, you did save my life—we must be beyond small talk now.” 

Korra couldn’t help but relax her stance a little—she hadn’t meant to offend the highborn woman’s sensibilities—she just wanted things to be open and honest. Less confusing.

“Exactly.” 

Asami sighed and fixed her eyes on the horizon for a moment, gathering her thoughts together,

“Well, Miss Dawson—”

“Korra.” Korra interrupted.

Asami was startled enough to drag her eyes back to catch Korra’s toothy grin. 

She swallowed, surprised to find that her throat had gone suddenly dry. She’d had several stern discussions with herself on the way down to the Third Class accommodations—a pathetic attempt to keep her heart from getting too attached to the pirate with the cheeky grin. Because if there was one thing she absolutely did not need in her life right now, it was more complications. More _tragedy_.

But she couldn’t deny that seeing Korra smile at her like that made the unpleasantness of her morning fade away. Made her glad that she’d found her, even if she knew it was selfish.

Clearly, her heart was staging a mutiny.

“Right. Korra, I—I must confess, I feel like such an idiot. It took me all morning just to gather up enough courage to face you.” 

Korra hated that wry, almost defeated look in Asami’s eyes, but she couldn’t think of any way to make her feel better—she couldn’t very well hug the woman or touch her arm in reassurance. There wasn’t the excuse of imminent danger to avow it—and though Korra was trying to be pleasant and offer bridges, it was clear Asami herself was more comfortable with walls. She didn’t think physically reaching out would be acceptable, so she kept her arms locked to her sides. 

But she couldn’t stop herself from stepping closer, a surprised frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

“What? Why?”

Asami was studying her, her own mouth set in a soft smile,

“I want to thank you for what you did.” She said as if it were obvious. “Not only for pulling me back, of course, but for your discretion. You could have told Bataar or Varrick what had really happened to try to barter for better treatment, but you didn’t, and I—I know it caused you great pain.”

Korra tried to meet Asami’s eyes, to flash her a reassuring smile with her shrug, “I’ve been through worse.” 

Asami’s nostrils flared at that and she looked almost pained, “Even so, I—I want to apologize for their behavior. You did more for me than I think you’ll ever know, Korra. I don’t—I don’t know how I could have explained it to Wu, and if it had gotten back to my father—”

Korra reached out then—because she felt ridiculous and inadequate trying to reach her with just her words, and she decided then and there she would deal with the fallout, it would be worth it if she could just touch her hand this once, _Spirits_ it looked like Asami needed a hug. Korra covered the hand that Asami had used to steady herself against the rail with her own and kept her eyes on Asami’s face, offering a smile of her own. 

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad I was in the right place at the right time to help you.” 

For a moment—Asami allowed the contact. For a moment, she allowed herself to accept the warmth of Korra’s touch and the sincerity in her eyes. To remember what it had felt like when Korra had begged her not to jump, had become her entire world when she’d held her back from the waves— _look at me_ , she’d said, _I’ve got you, just don’t give up_. 

_You jump, I jump._

But then Asami shuddered and withdrew—pulled away and forced her feet to move. She didn’t know where she was going, just that she couldn’t bare to be still and useless any longer. She grabbed onto some rigging and felt the roughness between her fingers.

She was losing her nerve. Confusing fantasy with reality. That intensity Korra had exhibited had just been the heat of the moment. She was just imagining that the connection was soul-deep. Wasn’t she?

Korra couldn’t—no. Korra had seen Asami at her absolute worst. 

_Spirits, what must Korra think of her?_

“Believe me, Korra, I—I know what you must be thinking.” Asami said grimly, staring at the rope in her hands. 

She was afraid to look into Korra’s eyes again—afraid she’d see nothing but pity.

“Oh?” Korra called softly. She was slow to follow—careful not to step out of line again.

“‘Poor little rich girl’,” Asami spat, she was finding it hard to breathe under the weight of the memory of Wu’s gift, “‘what does she know about misery?’”

“No.” Korra said with a shrug, glad when Asami’s sharp eyes snapped to her. It sent a thrill through her entire body. “That wasn’t what I was thinking at all.” 

Korra swallowed thickly and spoke very slowly, terrified that every word would be too much—that she’d scare Asami away again. But she had to say something. She had to try. 

“I was awake for a long time wondering what could’ve possibly happened to this incredible girl I’d just met to make her think she had no other way out.” Korra paused, but when Asami didn’t bolt, she continued, “I was thinking whatever it was, I—I hope she has someone she can talk to—to let her know she’s not alone.”

Asami seemed surprised by Korra’s approach, and the words felt heavy as they piled up on her tongue, “I—I don’t—” 

Asami could almost feel the cold of that necklace tightening around her throat again, and that burning shame from her father’s disappointed look. She could feel all of that—and yet, Korra was looking at her with such gentleness, as if to tell her she didn’t have to share. Not if she didn’t want to. Those blue eyes were open and honest, and she knew Korra was curious about her and wanted to ask a thousand questions—but there was no malice in her eyes. She wasn’t looking to poke or pry or delve deep without permission. Even the way she held herself with her hands in her pockets and her head tilted toward Asami spoke of great patience. 

_She deserves to know_ , Asami thought, taking a sharp breath. _She saved me when she didn’t even know my name—she deserves to know what brought us together at least._

“Well, it wasn’t just one thing.” Asami admitted, taking strength from Korra’s eyes on hers, “It was—it was everything. It was—my whole world, and all of the people in it. My father and my fiancé and Society and—and the inevitability of what my life is to be, and I felt as if I were—just caught up in a storm of inertia, plowing ahead to disaster and there was nothing I could do to stop any of it. I was just—powerless.”

Asami didn’t know when exactly Korra had caught the hand that she’d been gesturing with, but she became suddenly aware of soft, tentative strokes along her knuckles. She realized with a jolt that Korra was staring rather intently at the engagement ring on her finger—at the gaudy, flashy diamond that Suyin Beifong and Buttercup Raiko and all of the other esteemed ladies of First Class had fawned and preened over.

But Korra didn’t gush or offer praises. 

She got a very curious look in her eye. Her eyebrows furrowed and her jaw clenched. 

Korra remembered the man with the golden pantaloons and that ridiculous cane. His dancing eyebrows and twenty pound note. She remembered thinking then that he didn’t deserve Asami, and now—she felt it even more fiercely.

Korra looked up before Asami had really prepared for it and fixed her with an intense blue stare. 

“If you’d jumped with this thing on,” Korra said solemnly, “I think it would’ve taken you straight to the bottom.” 

Asami couldn’t stop herself from letting out a short bark of a laugh, “You’re probably right.” 

Korra let go of Asami’s hand and there was a moment of awkward silence.

Korra could definitely see a bit of a blush on the woman’s cheeks as she stole another glance her way and fiddled with her fingers.

“Most people usually congratulate me.” Asami finally pointed out. 

Korra frowned, “I don’t see the point in that.”

Asami’s head snapped up, “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m so sorry,” Korra stammered after she realized what she’d said, “I just meant—you were just telling me how you felt trapped and overlooked and I assumed that meant you didn’t, umm, weren’t all that thrilled with this match?” 

Korra knew she was doing a poor recovery job. So naturally, she tried even harder to make herself understood,

“I mean—Wu seemed—umm, well, charming, I suppose. And he—he bought you this expensive ring so, he obviously—cares about you a lot and it—ah, it can’t be that bad if you love him.”

Asami was staring at her as if she’d grown a second head. Korra reached up and rubbed at the back of her neck—wishing she had just kept her mouth shut.

But she couldn’t help but ask, 

“Do you? Love him, I mean?” 

That blush Korra had noticed on Asami’s cheeks suddenly grew several shades deeper—and she could definitely see it creeping up the lady’s neck now as well. 

“What on Earth does that have to do with—"

“Do you love him?” Korra asked again. She didn’t understand why her heart was beating so fast—by all accounts, seeing the ring on Asami’s finger should be a not-so-subtle reminder that the woman was off limits. Class and wealth aside—she was engaged to another. She was not free. 

_But she just admitted she feels like things are out of control_ , a stupidly hopeful voice in Korra’s mind pointed out, _maybe she didn’t choose it._

 _But that doesn’t mean she would ever, in ten thousand years, choose you_ , Korra reminded herself sternly. She’d saved the woman’s life—that didn’t necessarily make them friends.

“You’re being very rude.” Asami said, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, “You shouldn’t be asking me this. We—we hardly know each other.”

Korra knew Asami was right. She knew she should just apologize and drop it at that. Be thankful for the time she’d gotten to spend with Asami and try not to make an even bigger ass of herself so there could still remain a slim possibility that Asami would be civil with her at dinner. 

She’d be lucky if she ever heard her name uttered with simple coolness from Asami’s lips rather than derision at this point. 

“I’m not asking for your deepest secrets here,” Korra pressed, even though she knew she shouldn’t. “I just want to know if you—" 

“This is completely inappropriate, and I would prefer it if you would refrain from asking me again—” 

“—if you love him or not? It’s a simple question.” 

Korra was getting worked up now, and she knew Asami was too. 

“Look, you’re the one that brought it up. Why is it so hard for you to—”

“Because _love_ , Korra, is not in the cards for someone like me, alright!” Asami glowered, her green eyes narrowed and dangerous.

Korra froze, her heart clenching, but Asami wasn’t finished,

“Wu is _safe,_ alright? He has plenty of money and comes from a family older than mine.”

Korra knew she should be penitent—she should feel the ache of knowing she’d ruined whatever tender tendrils of trust had been blooming between them—but she couldn’t stop herself from staring, dumbstruck—and absolutely in awe. There was defiance in Asami’s eyes now—and her cheeks were tinged pink as she glared. She looked even more alive and fierce than she had when she’d been berating Korra from across the railing, and it was _quite a sight_. 

_This_ was the woman who’d thrown her hat to the waves. 

_This_ was the woman who’d called her a pirate and admitted she didn’t like being pinned down by Society’s expectations.

 _This_ was the woman who’d stood between Korra and the first mate’s punishment—who had scolded her fiancé and his friends for turning a blind eye to the cruelty before them.

And _this_ was the woman Korra didn’t think she would ever be able to draw just right. 

“My father is a self-made man,” Asami huffed, “and he’s worried for my future because I’m too loud and too curious and all I do is bring shame to our family, so he made a match that will protect me from all of the worst parts of myself. He did it because he loves me, and I love him so—so I just have to learn to live with it.”

Asami was panting by the end of her speech, and for several long seconds, there was silence. 

Korra took a sharp breath and held it for a moment, letting herself feel the strain in her cheeks before she let it out loudly.

“There now,” Korra finally said, trying to keep her tone light, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Asami looked startled at first, then she rolled her eyes and gave Korra a dry look, “Are you always this annoying?” 

Korra just shrugged, still grinning so wide Asami had to wonder how her cheeks weren’t hurting. The wind blew some of her short brown hair into her eyes and Asami watched with growing ~~fascination~~ frustration as the woman reached up to brush it away.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Korra admitted slyly. 

Asami snorted and turned her eyes out to the sea, wishing she could absorb some of its calm—her stomach was full of butterflies. She didn’t think she’d ever been so open before. 

Even with her closest friends back home, there had always been layers and layers of decorum that kept Asami from speaking her mind freely. And she would never dare raise her voice in like manner to her father. She had thought once that perhaps sitting for her courses at Oxford or working in her father’s factory she might find herself surrounded by people and ideas that would _encourage_ such candor, but that future had been closed to her forever.

For a long time now, she’d felt as if she were suffocating, but now—after a few hours of conversation with Korra, she felt—comfortable, in her own skin. Not quite liberated, but—lighter.

It was—an odd feeling. Her heart was pounding and she felt lightheaded. But the blood in her veins—it felt hot. On fire. 

“And for the record…” 

Korra’s voice drew Asami back to the deck and she turned to look into those brilliant blue eyes— _Spirits, Korra was beautiful_.

She was also frustrating and uncouth and far too brazen given the circumstances, but also—just beautiful. It was not the delicate, tender beauty that those Antiquities sculptors had tried so hard to immortalize, it was—stronger. Sharper. 

Asami’s heart started beating a little faster and she did her very best not to let it show. She told herself she was simply noticing these things because Korra was too involved now to be brushed aside and forgotten, and it was necessary to give credit where credit was due. 

But for her part, Korra looked nonplussed as she joined Asami at the rail and tilted her head back to soak in a bit more sun before she shot Asami one of those goofy smiles of hers,

“I think everybody deserves love. Even really posh people who don’t know how to talk about their feelings.” 

Asami snorted and deliberatedly turned her eyes away, “You know, your compliments tend to sound an awful lot like insults—”

“That wasn’t an insult.” Korra reassured her quickly, almost dropping her notebook as she tried to lean against the rail and brush her hair from her eyes at the same time, “It was a joke, friends joke—” 

She almost choked on her own words when Asami fixed her green eyes on her. She couldn’t tell what she was thinking. 

“So we are to be friends then? You and me?” Asami asked in a frightfully calm voice as her verdant eyes swept Korra up and down, “We are to joke with each other and share our secrets?”

Korra opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water several times, her eyes wide and her free hand fluttering—Asami thought she looked so silly, she almost cracked her stoic expression to laugh— _almost_. 

“I—ahh, I guess, I mean— _yes_. I would-I would like to, if that’s—is that—ahh” Korra fumbled. 

Asami’s lips twitched into a smile, but her eyes darted to the other woman’s left hand, to the notebook she was always carrying around. 

“Fair enough.” 

Before Korra could think of something intelligent to say, Asami reached out and snatched her sketchpad from her fingers.

“Hey!” 

“Friends don’t have secrets!” Asami called over her shoulder as she took quick strides to put distance between them before Korra could try to take back her notebook, “And I want to know what you keep in this tightly bound notebook of yours.” 

A cursory glance downward confirmed Asami’s suspicions that the papers stuck between the leather sleeves were thicker than the average sheaves—it was artist’s paper. And Asami almost tripped over her own feet when she allowed herself to take in the father and daughter captured on the very first page. 

“What are you, some sort of artist or something?” 

Asami’s eyes widened as she followed the careful curves of the little girl’s scarf and the incredible detail around the father’s eyes—there were laughing lines there. Asami glanced back at Korra, noted how apprehensive she looked, and glanced back down at the drawing. 

With a trembling hand she turned the page—and saw a pair of children caught mid-laugh, a young boy whose eyes were completely obscured by the far too large cap on his head and a little girl who looked vaguely familiar. This drawing was stark, the margins shaded almost black to make the children the focus, as if they were the light of an incredibly dark world. 

“These are—uh, these are rather good.” Asami admitted, in awe. 

Asami didn’t know how, but somehow she’d drawn abreast of the deck chairs and slowly she sank into the nearest one, holding the notebook reverently, careful with each and every page as she flipped them over after close inspection of each side. Some of the sketches were only half-done, faces drawn in sharp relief while the backgrounds seemed to have been added as afterthoughts to give a sense of boundaries—there were some pages that were full of the same eyes or hands done several different ways, studies done of specific aspects of the human form. But as she delved deeper into Korra’s collection, to drawings that were fuller, pages that seemed so fit to bursting with a story told by the moth-eaten clothes of a woman waiting at a bar wearing what looked like an entire store’s worth of jewelry, or the miner’s cap hanging off a bedpost as a child prayed by candlelight—each small piece contributed to the whole so that after thorough inspection, Asami felt as if she knew these people, or at least pieces of them. 

“Korra,” Asami whispered, barely noticing that Korra had sunk down stiffly beside her and watched her progress with bated breath. “these are incredible. This—this is truly brilliant work.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m—I’m still learning.” Korra stammered a little bashfully. 

“Hmmm.” Asami hummed as she glanced over a portrait of the young man who’d come to Opal’s rescue in the general room—in the drawing he was sleeping. Korra had even shaded a bit of drool slipping from the corner of his mouth. 

“Who taught you?” Asami asked idly as she turned the page again. 

“Oh, ummm, well, no one.” Korra admitted, “I left home when I was still just a kid really and every time I thought about writing home to my folks I just—I didn’t know what to say, so I started—drawing, to try to give them a sense of what I’d seen, and the things I missed.”

Asami nodded, but continued her close inspection. 

Korra fidgeted and swallowed thickly. 

A group of men dressed for the tennis courts passed by and shot her curious, affronted glances. But they weren’t the ones who made her nervous. She studied Asami’s face, cataloguing her reactions. She usually didn’t mind showing off her work—but this felt different. She didn’t want Asami _not_ to be impressed, necessarily, she just—wanted her honest opinion. She wanted to share this piece of herself. 

“I drew Naga a lot, at first.” Korra found herself saying, “She’s surprisingly hard to capture on paper—I was always getting her head too big.” 

Asami laughed and then paused with a frown when she saw the next drawing—the man in the drawing had his back turned, so Korra’s zest for detail had been attributed to his surroundings—particularly to a sculpture that Asami would recognize anywhere. 

“Korra, this—this is the _Venus de Milo_.” Asami stammered. 

Korra frowned and glanced from the page up to Asami and back again. 

“Yeah? Is that bad?”

“Bad? No, this is—you’ve drawn her as perfectly as all of your human subjects, she’s—she’s exquisiste.”

Korra grinned, “I thought so too.” 

Asami’s eyebrow lifted in surprise, “You—you’ve been to the Louvre? You drew this from life?” 

Korra nodded, “Yep. Paris, Florence, Rome—Bolin and Mako and I, we’ve been all over.” 

Asami blinked, her eyes still caught up on Korra’s hands—she knew for herself just how strong they were, and yet they were capable of such delicate art. _She is so fascinating_. 

“Mako? Bolin? Are they—your travel companions?” Asami asked, needing to distract herself before she started remembering all the ways she’d felt Korra’s hands—that trembling handshake across the rail, a sturdy clasp and tug to stop her fall, and gentle touches for reassurance.

Korra just laughed, “I guess you could say that—we kind of adopted each other. We met in Dublin. I had tried to get into this underground boxing ring to make some quick cash, but this— _jerk_ , Toza, wouldn’t let me sign up because he has this ridiculous notion that females are inferior and can’t hold their own in a fight, and well—long story short, Bolin snuck me in, he’s a real sweetheart, always trying to help people, but it was Mako who talked some sense into Toza and got him to let me stay on and between the three of us, we ended up making enough to rent this really small attic from this old lady, her name was Maria, I think—anyway, we figured out pretty quick that we make a good team. And so we decided that whatever we did next, we’d do it together, and well—now we’re on our way to America together.” 

Asami nodded mutely—her point of fascination having moved from Korra’s captivating hands to her lips. Would they also be a living contradiction? Like her hands? Strong, but soft? Masterful and—

Asami blushed fiercely, appalled that she should think such things—and completely powerless to stop herself from imagining it at the same time—what would it feel like if Korra’s lips were to follow every touch she’d made with her hands? First over the backs of her hands, across her knuckles, then around her wrist, maybe even—

Asami swallowed thickly, forced herself back into the conversation, into _reality_.

“You must be very close.”

Korra blushed suddenly, rather deeply, “Yeah well, there was this time that Mako and I almost—” 

Korra paused, her mouth clamping shut as if she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“Are you at a loss for words?” Asami teased, smiling. 

Korra glanced away, trying to gather herself, but couldn’t stop her words from jumbling together and coming out in a rush, “I—well, we were sort of involved. But I was drunk when I kissed him, so it didn’t really count and at the time Bolin thought he was in love with me so he was really hurt by it and it was really confusing and awkward for awhile, so I tried to call it off, but by then Mako had kinda decided he was in love with me too, but that was a long time ago.” Korra closed her eyes and let out a breath, “And now we’re all fine.”

Asami blinked, surprised at how quickly envy made itself known—that all it took were the vagueries of an implied romance to send her heart sinking with a heaviness that almost made her fingers numb. It was completely irrational, these reactions, and she did not think she had the energy to try to understand them. 

“That sounds—rather complicated.” Asami said. 

Korra groaned and practically dropped her head into her hands, “It was. Trying to navigate my adolescence with the two of them was—interesting to say the least.”

Asami laughed, a genuine laugh that somehow didn’t get tangled up in the mess of jealousy and loneliness that had decided to take up residence in her chest. 

“I can only imagine,” Asami teased, and then turned her attention back to the drawings she still had in her lap. 

“Yeah.” Korra croaked, her voice tight. 

Asami glanced at her briefly, surprised at the change, but didn’t want to read too much into it as she turned aside the sketch featuring the _Venus de Milo_ and perused the next few renderings of similar exhibits from the—

Asami froze when it finally dawned on her why Korra had gone so quiet. 

She was such an idiot—it had taken her a grand total of three pages to realize that the sketches she’d taken for statues from some dark corner of some obscure museum or other weren’t statues at all. Their poses were too contemporary, too natural and intimate, one draped over a chaise lounge, another gazing out a window with a cigarette burning to a nub between her fingers, and one just rising from a bed of rumpled sheets. They were all women very skillfully rendered from head to toe—all very much naked. 

“Oh,” Asami breathed, her cheeks tingeing as her heart sputtered, not quite sure what to do with itself. 

“I’m sorry,” Korra spluttered, reaching over as if to take the notebook back. And Asami just blinked at her, unable to comprehend why Korra would ever apologize for her art, “You don’t have to—”

“No, it’s alright.” Asami murmured, angling her body slightly so she could keep the drawings out of Korra’s reach, “I want to.” 

Korra froze, her lips twitching as if she didn’t know whether to grin or frown, “You—you do?” 

Asami nodded, not really trusting her voice while Korra looked at her like that, so she ducked her head and fixed her eyes on the drawings. Asami very carefully shuffled back to the first of the nude portraits, the one of the woman on the chaise lounge, “I think they’re beautiful.” 

The woman on the couch had a full figure, a soft stomach that crinkled and creased in the middle and under her breasts as she reclined, and Asami had the peculiar urge to trace the lines on the parchment. Korra had not omitted a single detail, she had drawn the woman’s nipples dark and pert, her pubic hair barely tamed, and even some dark hair beneath the arm that was raised over her head. Asami was mesmerized.

She didn’t think she’d ever seen the female form rendered so honestly, not even by that Picasso that she admired so much.

 _Korra is so talented_ , Asami thought distantly through the haze of strange excitement that had taken over her usually sound and analytical mind. Her heart was beating with abandon, and her fingers tingled as she turned the pages with the same kind of nervous excitement that she’d always felt when she read those tatty magazines—it was as if Korra’s drawings had transported her back to her own adolescence, to those flustery, awkward and miserable years of wondering and _yearning_.

The earlier sketches had captured life in moments, they were scenes that conveyed Korra’s skill at drawing everday life and the people in it, but these—these nudes really allowed her to focus on the eyes and hands of the women themselves. The backdrops were far less elaborate—a couch with pillows, the vague lines of a bedpost or column, the focus was clearly the women. They appeared soulful, and real. Powerful even.

 _Korra knows_ , Asami thought with a pang, _she **has** to, she’s drawn them with such care, as if they’re people, not just objects_, _so she has to know what it’s like—_

Asami almost jumped out of her skin when she heard footsteps approaching. Without thinking she drew the sketchbook close to her breast to shield the drawings from prying eyes and didn’t dare lower it again until the waiter scurried by. 

Only then did she let out the breath she’d been holding. 

Korra was looking at Asami again, her eyes glittering almost as dark as a stormy night. 

Asami cleared her throat and brushed a strand of hair over her shoulder as she reached to turn the page over so she could examine the next incredibly beautiful naked woman that Korra had drawn. She was lying on a bed, on her stomach, her hands drawn up to cup her chin with a rueful smile on her face. She appeared half in light, half in shadow—with shadows splaying over the round curves of her buttocks. 

“So, ahh—were these also, drawn from—life?” 

Asami didn’t turn her head, but she could hear Korra swallow thickly.

“Yes.” 

Asami nodded, trying to ignore the way her heart had started doing odd leaps and bounds, a deviation from its racing routine. She knew, logicaly, any serious artist must get exposure to—to this sort of thing. To models wearing nothing but—nothing but truth. But she couldn’t deny that her entire body went hot and then cold as she tried to imagine it—Korra seated before these very beautiful, very naked women, with her pencils and steady hands and her blue eyes, observing. Laying everything bare. 

And suddenly Asami had a wild notion—a desire to watch Korra in action. To watch her take a truth and transfer it to paper—to watch her hands carefully and steadily laying bare the secrets of the human heart and then—for an even wilder moment, Asami caught herself trying to imagine what it would be like not only to watch Korra draw, but to be _the one_ Korra laid bare—the one holding still so Korra could capture her on paper— _all_ of her, and she couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. 

“But that was the really neat thing about Paris,” Korra suddenly spoke, trying to bring some levity back to the tense stillness that had fallen over them, “it’s chock-full of models willing to take their clothes off to sponsor the arts.” 

“Oh.” Asami mumbled, hating how quickly her excitement had turned to despair—she was not used to emotions of this magnitude crashing over her so quickly. Her heart had been bounding and leaping a moment ago, and now it was plummeting. 

Korra was an artist. And these were subjects, just like any of the others she had chosen. Their arrangement, no matter how intimately staged, had been strictly business. 

Any _wondering_ or—or _romantic_ gaze she thought she saw was simply a reflection of her own desires. 

And Asami was silly for thinking anything different. 

_This should be no surprise_ , the logic in her seemed to scoff, _she spoke of kissing that Mako—_

 _We all make mistakes_ , her heart snapped back, _she also said it was a confusing time._

 _Shut up!_ Her sanity wanted to shout, _A true artist sees beauty in people of all creeds!_

Asami shook her head slightly to try to gather herself, and then frowned,

“Is this the same—?” She trailed off as she leafed through the pages to confirm her suspicions,

“Yes, I thought so—you’ve used this one several times.” Asami pointed out, angling the notebook so Korra could see. 

Korra ran her palms over the tops of her thighs as she scooted closer,

“Oh yeah, Amelie—she had the most remarkable nose, see?” Korra reached over to Asami’s lap and shuffled through to pull out one of the pictures she had already greedily absorbed, “She had a great laugh too—see how her nose crinkled?”

Asami nodded, still a little stung. “Yes.”

“Oh, and this one, Nicola, she smoked at least 12 cigarettes a day and still had the most luscious lips—” Korra tugged one of her headshots to the front of the stack so Asami could see it again. The woman was rendered only from the shoulders up, her lips parted and her eyes half-lidded in a very— _seductive_ way.

“She’s stunning.” Asami admitted, once again feeling an irrational and unexplainable pang of jealousy. She tried to focus on the artistry of the piece—to be objective and she took a deep breath,

“These are all so incredible, Korra. You have a gift. You _see_ people—not just their beauty, but their struggles and their—dreams in their eyes.”

Korra’s bright grin turned a little sheepish, “Yeah, well—ah—thanks, Asami.” 

Asami smiled back.

Korra’s throat constricted as she glanced down again at her work, fondness in her eyes. “You know, they were all very sweet and charming in their own way. They’re just people, you know? Like you said, they all had these incredible stories, some incredibly uplifting and others just so—so tragic and I really just tried to draw what I saw, but Nicola was—” 

Korra trailed off and chuckled, drawing a sharp look from Asami. 

“Was what?” 

Korra shook her head, one of those wide (and insufferable) grins taking over her face, “Oh you know, just—a handful, I guess. See, Mako and I both fancied her so every time she came over we were both trying to wine and dine her and in the end I was lucky even to get this one portrait of her.” 

Korra said it so casually, but Asami felt like the world had just tilted. The blood roared in her ears and she was quite certain that if she hadn’t been sitting down she may have tripped over nothing. 

“You—” Asami’s lips felt clumsy, “You fancied her?”

Korra met Asami’s eyes dead on and didn’t look away. “Yes.” 

Asami took a breath, hoping to relieve some of the pressure that was building up inside, “You—you were involved? With—with her?”

Korra chuckled, but softly, she didn’t want to break eye contact, “I certainly would’ve liked to have been, but she wouldn’t have me.”

 _What an idiot_ , Asami’s mind scoffed.

 _Thank God,_ Asami’s heart shouted for joy.

 _This can’t be real_ , Asami’s sanity cautioned, _You must’ve slipped into a coma in the night and this is all a fever dream_.

Thankfully, all that slipped from Asami’s lips was an unintelligible bit of gibberish under a soft exhale. She forced her head to bob up and down, to give some indication that she had understood—that she sympathized. 

Korra was studying her again, that levity she’d struggled to revive seeming to have died. There was something almost apprehensive in her eyes, not quite afraid, but—nervous. 

“Asami,” Korra’s voice was low, strained. She paused and shook her head ruefully at herself before leaning slightly closer, tension visible in her shoulder and neck, even her jaw, “Asami, I’ve been involved with both men and women, in my past. Is that—is that going to make it harder for us to be friends?” 

Asami wished, rather fervently, that she had a better mastery of her linguistic faculties in the moment—that she could have reassured Korra immediately that _no, of course it wouldn’t. how absurd to even suggest—_

But she had unfortunately gotten caught up on that phrase _, both men and women, both men and women, both men and women_ —which was playing on a loop through her head, and she had gotten a little lost in the all-consuming, empowering realization that,

_I’m a woman._

Which was, she knew, just a coincidence of birth, but she suddenly counted it a blessing—a blessing because it meant by _Korra’s own metric_ , she met at least _one_ of the requirements to be considered desirable in a romantic sense and she knew that was rather far fetched, given the realities of their very different lives and the rather strenuous and peculiar nature of their meeting and short acquaintance, but only a few moments ago she had been crushed by the thought that she might not even be considered a _possibility_ , but now—now she had hope for something impossible in application, but _viable_ and absolutely _valid_ in theory and suddenly she felt like screaming. Or laughing. Maybe both. Definitely crying as well. 

Just some— _outward expression_ of the sudden implosion of her misery and the triumphant rise of a hope she should not at all feel. Because it was _dangerous_. 

But she couldn’t think of that. All she could think was, 

_I’m a woman._

_Korra fancies both men and women_ —both men _and women_. 

_And I Am A WOMAN._

She savored these messy thoughts and emotions in silence long enough for Korra to start to fidget as the nerves took over once again. 

“I just—I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” Korra blurted, inadvertently drawing Asami out of her reverie. 

“I know most people wouldn't want—" Korra tried to continue.

“I’m not most people.” Asami interrupted, finally able to offer Korra a genuine smile. 

Korra blinked, her blue eyes going a little wide. 

They stared at each other for several moments, both breathing a little heavily, as if they’d run separate, but equally arduous marathons. 

Neither was willing to speak first. They were both so unsure. Neither able to decide how much more needed to be said—whether it had been enough. 

Asami looked away first, clearing her throat and looking down to nudge the loose sketches back into a neater pile. 

_She’s an artist, not a mind reader_ , Asami thought grimly, _say something._

“If I’m being honest, I rather envy you.” Asami finally admitted to the drawings and definitely not to Korra’s face, “Being able to—to identify what you want and have the courage to pursue it, him or—or _her_ , that’s—that’s—that sounds so brave. I couldn’t even imagine—”

Asami bit her lip and cringed. She’d never said it out loud. And technically, she knew she still hadn’t. 

The curator’s daughter. Her friend Izumi’s governess. Lady Madeline, and a few others—they had all known without her having to say it. There had been a quiet courtship, a dance of the eyes as they circled each other with bated breath, wondering, yearning, doubting, wanting. 

And of course, others had said it for her. The rumors had gotten out, they somehow always do. 

And there had been a small, trembling part of her that had wanted her father to confront her about it—to force her to say it out loud. To make it real. 

But he never had. So she never did. 

Asami didn’t realize that there were tears in her eyes until one splashed onto Korra’s drawing of Nicola.

“Oh. Oh, God, I’m—Korra, I’m so sorry.” Asami stammered as she simultaneously tried to push the notebook to the very edge of her lap and reached up with her free hand to scrub away her tears. 

“Asami.” 

Asami froze when Korra’s warm, strong hand caught her wrist. With barely any effort, the world-traveled artist drew her own hand away from her face and gazed into her eyes with—with something so much softer, and kinder than _pity_. It was empathy. Compassion. Care. 

Asami’s breath caught. 

“Asami, what you said before—about someone like you not being—not allowed to love?” Korra’s eyes seemed to break, to fill with tears of her own, “That’s not true, okay? You deserve to be happy, to let your heart love as completely as you can.”

Asami’s instinct was to pull away. To scoff. To deflect. To bury these unpleasant emotions before things got any further out of hand. 

“You know there are quite a lot of people who would disagree with you about that—”

But Korra wouldn’t let her.

“They’re wrong.” Korra said sternly. So sternly that Asami didn’t know how she could possibly argue with that. 

Korra bowed her head for a moment, breathing a little heavily. When she looked up again, her eyes were just as blue and kind as they had been on a clear day,

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so authoritative.” Korra said gently, “I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, Asami. We barely know each other, and that’s not my place, but I—I do see a bit of your pain when I look in your eyes, and—and I just want to be sure that you know that love _can_ be in the cards for you. No matter what they say, there’s nothing evil about wanting love.”

Asami sniffled again and Korra squeezed her hand. 

“Yes, it might be a little dangerous to look for it, but you’re brave.” Korra continued. “I think you’ll manage.”

Asami frowned, hiccupping as she regarded Korra,

“Brave? What makes you think I’m—”

“I can see it here,” Korra insisted, reaching up with her free hand to lightly brush just beneath Asami’s eyes. 

It was feather-light, her touch, and Asami shuddered. 

“What exactly do you see?” Asami demanded, but her voice was still wet and little more than a whisper. 

Korra smiled. 

“You wouldn’t have jumped.”

Once again, Asami’s first instinct was to scoff. To turn her eyes away and offer a sarcastic quip to turn the subject to something tamer. Something acceptable. Not so cutting. 

But somehow, the way Korra looked at her kept her still. Kept her silent. 

Her meaning was clear—in the heat of the moment, when everything was so overwhelming, letting go was the easy thing. It was hanging on that took courage. 


	17. No Tea for Captain Kuvira

The sun had almost reached its zenith in the sky, but the day was full of surprises. And having finished her afternoon inspection early, Captain Kuvira found herself sitting down to tea in a rare visit away from the Bridge. 

The _Titanic_ had been built with the luxury of the wealthy passengers in mind, with the kind of amenities that the Captain often found detracted from the directive of her mission. Kuvira was a tactical woman. Very dedicated to her position, to its responsibilities. She did not often indulge in taking to the grand ballrooms or soaking in the Turkish baths herself, not when those delights were meant to entertain those not concerned with the welfare of the crew or the health of the ship—but she was glad of the opportunity to spend even a few minutes with her fiancé. 

Even if she felt a little guilty for it.

So she had agreed to tea in the Reception Hall. And she squeezed as close to Bataar Jr. as decorum would allow, while only half-listening to what the the White Star Line’s president had to say. 

“…and such fair weather we’ve been having.” Mr. Raiko tsked. “I’m surprised you’ve not lit the last four boilers.” 

Kuvira had been smiling indulgently at the amount of sugar Bataar had plopped into his fine china teacup, and had loving swatted his hand away when he tried to drop a handful of cubes into her own—but she shook herself out of her rosy happiness for a moment to fix her steely eyes on Raiko. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“The boilers.” Mr. Raiko said again. He glanced between his two guests, and rolled his eyes, “I’ve seen the plans, Captain, I helped design this ship. _Titanic_ is equipped with twenty-four boilers and is only utilizing twenty of them. I’m just wondering why you’re not—pushing her to the fullest. That’s all.” 

Beside Kuvira, Bataar cleared his throat and took up his napkin to swipe away the residual grains of sugar clinging to his palms, all warmth and love tucked away in an instant as he stiffened in his uniform, becoming the stern First Mate. 

Under the table, Kuvira rested her left hand on his knee, but she too kept her eyes on the president. 

“There really is no need to light them this early.” Bataar said evenly. He glanced at Kuvira who gave him a curt nod. “We are making excellent time.”

“Yes of course.” Mr. Raiko huffed, fiddling with the end of his teaspoon as he struggled to reconstruct his argument, “I do not mean to sound as if I am questioning your abilities, quite the contrary, but you understand that I represent the interests of the White Star Line, and the _Titanic_ represents so much—” 

“We are well hearsed in your salespitch, Mr. Raiko.” Kuvira cut in, her voice low and taciturn. She betrayed neither resentment nor annoyance. She kept her tone even and very nearly pleasant, “You used it quite adamantly when you hired us.” 

“Ah, yes.” Bataar remembered, a smile slipping through as he glanced at his fiancé, “I remember. ‘ _Titanic_ is the future!’ ‘A feat of engineering—a marvel—a masterpiece!’”

“And was I wrong?” Mr. Raiko asked smugly, making a broad gesture. 

Bataar chuckled, “No, of course not. _Titanic_ is—incredible.”

“Exactly!” Mr. Raiko slapped his palm on the table, startling several other parties enjoying their tea, “Everyone has heard of the _Titanic_ ’s size, but we must let them see the _real_ beauty in her. Let’s give them something new to print—let them be amazed, not just by her dimensions, but by her ferocity in the water.”

Mr. Raiko’s eyes were gleaming with excitement and he leaned over the table, his mustaches quivering, “Light the last four boilers—and let’s show them that the _Titanic_ ’s speed is unmatched.”

Bataar Jr.’s lips twitched and his head bobbed, caught up in the older man’s enthusiasm. 

But the Captain, for her part, looked on with that same rigid, careful look. Carefully, she pulled her hand away from Bataar’s knee and steepled her fingers together as she gathered her thoughts and brought her elbows to rest on the tabletop. 

Her exhale drew the attention of her fiancé and the White Star Line president. 

“Mr. Raiko,” Kuvira said slowly, “You seem to have forgotten that while _Titanic_ has broken down many barriers just by being built, this is in fact her first real test.”

“Why I, of course not, I haven’t—I only meant,” Raiko stammered. 

"You may have approved the plans for this ship, but it is I, and not you, who stands at its helm every day.” Kuvira continued. 

“ _I_ am the one who has to read the reports of fires in Boiler Room 6, and a propeller throwing a blade. _I_ am the one who has to decide how we fix those problems without alarming the passengers or losing valuable time. _I_ am the one who has to decide when and _if_ we are to light all of the boilers, and if I may be frank—”

Kuvira paused just to let Raiko squirm for a moment before she let out a soft sigh, “I would prefer not to push the engines until they’ve been properly run in.” 

“Of course,” Raiko said quickly, his hair seeming to have lost some of its volume from all of the bobbing and nodding he was doing, “Of course, I completely understand, and I leave it to your good offices to decide what’s best, Captain.”

“Good.” Kuvira nodded once and then pushed away from the table. She replaced the napkin she’d kept in her lap and gestured toward her untouched cup, “Thank you for the tea.”

Raiko stammered his platitudes, but Kuvira had already turned her attention back to Bataar Jr. She brushed a hand lightly over his shoulder and leaned down to kiss his cheek, her single braid swinging, “I’ll see you on the bridge.” 

And after a single, soft look, she turned on her heel and stepped away. 

Bataar watched her go for as long as he could, his eyes incredibly fond behind his round spectacles. 

“Right, man.” Raiko hissed as soon as the Captain’s shadow was eaten by the sun as she stepped out onto the deck, “You’ve got to talk some sense into her.” 

Bataar frowned and swiveled in his chair to face the president of the White Star Line. 

“You heard her.” Bataar shrugged, “She’s made up her mind, and once she’s made up her mind—”

“Yes, her husband can change it.” Raiko finished loftily. 

Bataar shifted slightly in his chair—his cheeks taking on a light pink dusting. 

“Oh, well—we’re not actually, umm, married yet.” 

“All the better.” Raiko tossed a hand, “It means you're still in the the honeymoon phase.”

“But—” Bataar tried.

“Just think of it!” Raiko interrupted with feeling, “You’ve made it no secret that you’d like to take a break from the seas for a while, focus on your new bride, maybe start a family—”

“Oh, well—” Bataar stammered. He felt trapped, unable to deny Raiko’s words.

“And I don’t blame you, Junior. There are some things that a man’s got to sacrifice for, and family’s one of them, _but,”_ Raiko’s eyes seemed to bulge twice as large as he wagged a finger at the young man across from him, “if this really _is_ to be your last voyage—why not go out with a bang, eh? Why not let your fiancé, whose worked so hard for this company, get her due before you steal her away for a life on the shore?”

Bataar’s jaw had gone a little slack. He seemed to be gasping for air, grasping for words. 

“The presses would be raving, don’t you think?” Raiko asked wryly, “Not just about _Titanic_ , but about the masterful pair who got her through her maiden voyage. Don’t you think it would be worth it? To see their faces if we got to New York on Tuesday night and surprised them all? What do you say?” 

Raiko struck his hand out across the table, his eyes gleaming with the triumph of an inevitable victory. 

After a moment of heavy panting and contemplation, Bataar Jr. bowed his head in a stiff nod. 

He reached out across the table and shook Raiko’s hand. 

Not far away, there were other teatime plans that seemed to be falling to pieces. 

Quite a lot of commotion seemed to be unfolding in the state rooms belonging to one Mrs. Suyin Beifong. Not that the woman in question had a single hair out of place, but the moment her sister, Lin Beifong stepped through the door, she had to duck to avoid decapitation as her unruly nephews seemed to have invented a new and terrifying game to entertain themselves while their mother fussed about in front of her vanity. 

“Wei!” Lin Beifong scolded, her olive green eyes immediately finding said nephews who had tried unsuccessfully to hide behind the furniture to avoid a scolding. Somehow, Lin Beifong had always been able to tell the twins apart. And she also somehow always knew which of them was culpable even when they pulled their pranks together. 

She glared at the armchair now, completely ignoring the far more obvious lump of guilty flesh cowering behind the lampshade. 

“Get out from there and face me like a man!” Lin Beifong barked. 

Slowly, her sister’s son lifted his dark head, penitence written all over his face. 

“Sorry, Aunt Lin.” The boy sighed. 

“I’m not the one you should apologize to.” His aunt snapped. She gestured sharply to the wall where the impromptu plaything of choice had crashed and shattered, “Need I remind you that none of these fine things belong to you? I thought we had taught you better to respect other people’s property.” 

“Yes, Aunt Lin.” Wei said, eyes still downcast. 

“Wing?” Lin Beifong demanded, arching a grey eyebrow. 

“Yes, Aunt Lin.” Wing repeated. 

“Heavens, what’s going on in here?” Suyin asked brightly as she finally made an appearance. Her afternoon dress was light and airy, a soft green. 

“Oh good. You’re ready.” Lin drawled, pointedly glancing at the clock set upon the mantelpiece across the room. The one declaring that it was in fact twenty minutes after the hour they had agreed upon for tea. 

Su simply laughed as she crossed to kiss both sons on the tops of their heads. 

“Behave, please boys. Your father will be down soon and he promised to take you to the swimming pool.” 

“Alright!” Wei exclaimed, life flooding back into his features as he pumped his fist in the air. 

“Can’t wait!” His brother cheered. 

“Your children are animals.” Lin Beifong observed dryly. 

“Oh, Lin,” Su sighed as she searched through her clutch purse to make sure she had everything she needed, “Do you have to be so unpleasant all morning?”

“Depends.” Lin grumped, her eyes narrowing as she swept the room from left to right, “Where’s Opal?” 

“Oh. I completely forgot.” Su sighed, “I told her she could spend the morning with Asami. You remember, Hiroshi’s daughter?” 

“Hmmm.” Lin mused as she followed her sister out into the hall, “I suppose it’s a comfort to know that at least one of your offspring will be staying out of trouble.” 


	18. Mr. Varrick's Moving Picture

Opal was going to be in so much trouble. She was sure of it. 

It was getting late, and Opal knew she had missed tea with her mother and aunt, and they would probably be wondering where she had gotten to, but—this was her first real adventure. And she couldn’t tear herself away—at least, not while Bolin was still in the middle of telling her about his time working in the logging industry. 

He’d led such an exciting life—Opal felt as if she had been swept up in one of those dime novels her Aunt Lin had said were corrupting her older brother’s mind. Huan had just huffed and thrown them out to avoid further trouble—her brother had always hated confrontation—and Opal had simply given them a new home under her mattress before they could be taken away. And it had been several years since she’d taken one up, but she remembered very vividly the thrill of the stories, the untamed, unknown landscapes and rugged, daring heroes. 

She blushed lightly as she tried to picture the broad shouldered, sweet-tempered Irishman who was currently serving as her escort and companion sitting astride a powerful steed. It was not an altogether unpleasant prospect—and that was what made Opal blush. 

“So, after t’e logging got to be too much, Mako an' I tried ta' get back int'a t'e city, ta' work for an uncle o’ ours who had a grocery, but he couldnae afford te take us on, so we ended up livin’ on t’e streets for awhile…” Bolin was telling her with his grand, sweeping style of brogue oration.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Opal offered, her heart going out to this man she’d only just met, but who had been so kind to her. 

They’d left the General Room when it had become clear that being around so many prying eyes made Opal nervous, after her gallant new companion had tried all manner of cheering her up as she waited for Asami to return. He’d brought her a warm cup of hot chocolate that she’d only barely managed to choke down. 

“Oh, I’m right sorry, Miss Beifong.” The man had lamented when he’d seen her struggle, “I know it must not be as good as yore'n used te.”

“Oh, no, it’s—it’s fine.” Opal had tried to insist. 

“I guess it’s been so long—I’ve forgotten mesel’ wha’ good food tastes like. I mean, you’d be surprised ‘ow bad food, from a dumpster can be.” 

And though Opal had wanted to ask a thousand questions right there, she’d contented herself with reaching out to touch the very edge of his coat sleeve instead,

“It really is quite alright.” Opal had said with a soft smile, “It’s—It’s the thought that counts.” 

And then Bolin had smiled at her as if she had said exactly the right thing—which was not something Opal often found cause to be praised for. Her aunt and even her mother were always reprimanding her for her phrasing. For not thinking before she spoke. They were trying to mold her into a proper young lady, and she appreciated their lessons, but—but Bolin’s smile made her want to say more of what she thought. To venture beyond those few subjects she knew best. 

She wanted to ask about living on the street. And what it must have been like. 

She wanted to ask about eating food that came from a dumpster, and how awful it must have been. 

She wanted to ask how someone of such— _limited means_ had made it onto a ship like this. How Bolin had gotten here. 

She wanted to ask—how in the world it had ever come about that they should meet. What kind fates could have possibly been tugging them along all this while, Opal through her finishing school and Bolin through some cruel, mysterious school of hard luck to this moment—to the two of them smiling shyly at each other over a watery, cool cup of hot coacoa. 

And with time, and a little coaxing from Bolin whose antics and warmth broke through a few of those walls of reserve Opal knew she was supposed to keep up—she was able to ask. 

Bolin had somehow gotten her to let her guard down, even as she’d become increasingly aware of the stares and the time as it passed. He’d somehow gotten her to engage in conversation and forget about glancing at the door to search for Asami’s trim shadow every five minutes. He’d gotten her to laugh as he egged the small mob of children that were eating beside them into the conversation. And he’d even gotten her to release her death-grip on her cup of hot chocolate to take his hand instead. 

And before she knew it, she’d asked him to call her Opal, before that stiff _Miss Beifong_ could put any further distance between them, and had found herself taking his arm. They’d left the stuffiness of the General Room behind, and they hadn’t gone alone. They’d taken that large white dog and that herd of small children, three of whom she remembered Bolin had said were siblings, and another who Bolin claimed without the benefit of blood, up to the poop deck for a ‘breath o’ fresh air’ as he’d called it. 

And she had to admit, thoughts of teatime and decorum and even of her friend had started to grow small as she walked with Bolin. He had an almost loping gait that she could not perfectly match, but he turned to look at her so often that she had started to memorize his face—he had bright green eyes beneath bushy eyebrows and a rather square, button nose. And such a shock of black hair—he had managed to keep it pretty tame, but there was a single, errant curl that seemed to fall just over his left brow.

There was a gauntness to his cheeks that spoke of a once great hunger, but Opal hardly noticed it when he smiled. 

She thought he looked quite handsome when he smiled. Not in any gentlemanly, or severe sort of way, but in a tender—almost comforting way. 

She wondered, fleetingly, but more than once as they walked several paces behind the two children Opal had already come to adore named Ikki and Meelo, whether or not he was to be her first great love. This stranger she’d met on the great crossing to her new life. 

But then she scolded herself for being so silly and forced the notion down deep. She tried to divert her attention back to her companion, to hanging on to his every word. 

“Don’ be sorey. It was tough on t’e streets, but I had my brother. An’ then Mako got recruited ta' fight in this underground boxing ring, an’ it wasn’ so bad. Mako was so good, we got ta' stay in t'e owner’s attic. A’ first I was jest there ta’ egg on the crowd. The man in charge, Toza, he said he couldnae rightly put a child in the ring, even if I was built like a bull—” 

“How—how old were you?” Opal asked, her eyes like saucers. 

Bolin smiled again—he loved the sound of her voice. It was so soft and sweet, like clover on the winds. 

“Eleven.”

“Oh my.” Opal took a sharp breath, reaching up to the base of her throat as the enormity of it hit her—that all of these adventures Bolin had already related, the loss of his parents, the futile attempts to stay on at the logging camp, and the months on the street—they had all happened to a child. Her heart throbbed with an ache so deep she felt as if her bones had grown cold. 

“That’s—why that’s terrible.” 

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay now.” Bolin shrugged, still smiling, “After a few years, Toza let me in on ta’ t'e scheme, an' I got ta' box fer mesel'.”

He looked so proud as he told her, Opal thought maybe her aunt had been wrong about boxing not being a sport, but the poorest and most desperate of men.

“They called me Nuk-Tuk.” Bolin proclaimed. 

Opal frowned, pausing both so she could glance at Bolin and because Naga had come back toward them with her tail wagging. Opal knelt with her palm held out for the dog to sniff before she stroked her snout. 

“Nuck-Tuck?” Opal repeated, glancing up against the glare of the sun. 

Bolin nodded eagerly. “Yeah, o’course. It was my signature move, see? Mako, well, 'e’s light on his feet, but me—I’d keep em on the ropes an’ let my opponent tire out. Then when they get too flat-footed, I’d tuck my head down li'e this an’ charge!” Bolin did his best to demonstrate for Opal, charging an invisible opponent just down the way, where the children had turned back to watch. Both Ikki and Meelo let out shrieks of laughter and let themselves be chased. Much further down the deck, the other two children, Kai and Jinora turned briefly to see what the fuss was about, but then turned back to their own conversation, to walking and talking in the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

Opal let out a laugh that turned into a squeal when the large white dog licked her cheek. 

“Opal!” Bolin called, running back toward her, “Are ye’ alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Opal laughed, slicking the slobber from her cheek even as she scratched under the mountainous canine’s chin. “The dog was just being friendly.” 

“Oh good.” Bolin sounded relieved and his shoulders relaxed immediately. 

“This is Naga.” Meelo told Opal as he reappeared from just behind Bolin. 

“She gives really good kisses.” Ikki confided as she too materialized to throw herself over the dog’s side with a giggle. 

“Yes, I can see that.” Opal laughed as Naga started wriggling with excitement from all of the attention. She let out a loud bark and rolled over onto her back, clearly waiting for a belly rub. 

“Korra’ll be glad t’e know she likes ye.” Bolin said with a grin. 

“Korra?” Opal repeated, so absorbed in gratifying the dog alongside the children that she barely registered the name—though some usually quiet part of her mind did let out a low hum of recognition. It seemed to tap her shoulder, to nudge her almost expectantly as if to say, ‘come on, Opal, you should know this.’

“Oh, yeah, Korra—I didnae realize we forgot ta' go 'bout proper introductions.” Bolin laughed. 

“She’s Naga’s owner.” Ikki told Opal conversationally. “She’s an artist.” 

“Yeah, she’s gonna teach me.” Meelo added. “She’s really strong.” 

“Tha’s right.” Bolin chuckled, “She’s t’e toughest, buffest, most stubborn an' incredible girl I’ve ever met.”

And Opal hated that _now_ she was interested—that it was the clear admiration and warmth in Bolin’s voice that had her head snapping up, when she knew she shouldn’t be so territorial after such a brief acquaintance. But she was a Beifong—they were a passionate bunch. 

“Really?” Opal asked, careful to keep her voice smooth. 

“Apart from you, o’ course!” Bolin stammered, suddenly looking a little green in the face, “I didnae mean—I think yore incredible too, Opal, if you don’ mind me sayin' so, it’s jest—Korra means so much to us. She—well, she rightly saved us, she did. I don’ know where Mako and I would be if we hadn’t'a met her.” 

Bolin sounded so sincere, and looked so appalled at the thought of having offended her, that Opal couldn’t bear to let him think for even one moment that he had. She let her face relax and reached up, glad that Bolin scrambled forward quickly to take her hand and help her to her feet. 

“Well, she does sound rather incredible.” Opal took a moment to dust off her skirt before she started walking again, “I think I can understand now why Asami was so eager to see her this morning.” 

From the deck, Ikki let out a squeal that startled Opal slightly, but Bolin just looked a little nervous out of the corner of her eye. He fidgeted with the sleeves of his jacket and glanced away. 

“Oh, really, an' ahh—why was tha’?” 

Opal frowned. “Well, for all the reasons you said. She sounds fascinating. And she’s being heralded as quite the hero in our corner of the world. And I think Asami’s rather lonely, to be honest. I think she could really use a friend…” 

Opal trailed off when she saw the bright, equally hopeful and mischievous looks the children were flashing each other. Naga trotted between them, oblivious, but Opal knew Bolin at least had noticed as well—he was simply putting in a lot of effort to ignore it. 

“Alright, what’s going on?” Opal demanded, coming to a halt as she looked from the children over to Bolin and back again. 

“N-nothin'!” Bolin said quickly, his face contorting in very obvious tells as he tugged at his shirt and tried to strike out with longer strides, “Come on, if we move up ta' t'e fore-decks we might catch wind o’ some dolphins, it’s t'e right time o’ day fer it…”

“Bolin.” Opal said sternly, surprised at the effect just a slight inflection of her voice had over the poor fellow—but not surprised enough to relent. 

Bolin jolted and seemed to freeze up. “Y-yes?”

“You know it is considered rude to lie to a lady.” Opal pointed out, taking no pleasure in the way Bolin seemed to take the words like a blow.

“Wha? No, I—I’m not lyin’.” Bolin stammered. “It really is nothin’. Jest that Korra was—very eager t’e see yore friend, ahh, Miss Sato again as well.” 

Opal narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Is that so?”

“Yes! O’course!” Bolin insisted, lifting his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “She was tellin’ me abou’ it all mornin’.”

Opal rocked back on her heels and regarded Bolin for a moment before she turned to the children who were watching with wide eyes, “Is that really all there is?”

Meelo nodded his head, for once in his young life seeming to pick up on the high tension around him and choosing to remain mute. But beside him, Ikki’s eyes burned with the weight of her secret. 

“Well, she’s in—”

“Shh!” Meelo reacted quickly and slapped a hand over his sister’s mouth. “Be quiet, Ikki.” 

“Aha!” Opal cried, rounding once again on Bolin with a flush to her cheeks. 

She didn’t know why she suddenly felt so excited—perhaps her aunt was right and she read too many mystery novels. But she felt as if she were on the verge of a plot—of some great discovery and she couldn’t bear to be kept in the dark. 

Not when Bolin had been so open and honest about everything else. 

“Opal, please.” Bolin begged. 

He looked absolutely trapped. There was sweat standing out now on his forehead and he chewed on his bottom lip as he stood writhing in place under her stare. 

“Well if you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to go back to my part of the ship where I can find more honest company.” Opal said with a huff as she turned on her heel and started back the way they’d come. 

Bolin’s mouth dropped open. 

“What?!”

“You heard me.” Opal snapped back, her voice growing a little higher in pitch as she grew breathless. Her heart was pounding in her chest—she’d never taken charge like this before. Never been so demanding. She didn’t know if she liked it—she didn’t know if it was worth it, but she was too caught up to let up now—and she had to admit she loved the thrill of it. 

“You’ve been acting weird ever since you mentioned Korra—”

“I’m not!” Bolin tried to protest, but Opal continued on as if he hadn’t spoken.

“I asked you to speak plainly and you’ve refused to do so, so now I find I must take my leave and thank you for such a pleasant stroll, but I am leaving now.” Opal extended her hand, somehow feeling powerful as Bolin seemed to whither before her, to reach for her hand desperately as if afraid she’d disappear,

“Mr. Bolin, children, Naga, it’s been a pleasure,” Opal punctuated each word with a shake of her hand, “I wish you all the best of luck for the remainder of the voyage. If you happen to see my friend, please tell her that I’ve returned to my state rooms and I’ll see her at dinner. As for you, this must surely be goodbye—” 

“But—but Opal,” Bolin looked absolutely heartbroken. 

There was a new shine to his eyes. He looked so hurt that Opal very suddenly, and very violently wished her words back. She was suddenly filled with self-loathing. 

How could she—how could she have gotten so carried away? 

Instead of letting go of Bolin’s hand, Opal let out a soft gasp and clasped their joined hands tightly, opening her mouth to apologize, to take it all back—

“Cut! Cut right there—that was ingenious!” 

But a rather boisterous voice startled her so completely that she staggered back from Bolin, her words dying immediately in her throat. Her eyes widened when she found the source of the interruption, a rather thin, wiry man in a bright purple overcoat stood just beyond the curve of the nearest smokestack base—he looked vaguely familiar, but Opal was ashamed to admit that instinct may have arisen solely on the cut and shine of his clothes. 

The intruder was addressing someone completely hidden by the enormity of the smokestack, but Opal could hear the creak and churn of something wooden being maneuvered—and before she could try to take a guess as to what on earth was going on, another fellow made an appearance, this one almost completely cowed over under the weight of a large, wooden camera. The kind they used for making moving pictures. 

“Wow.” Ikki breathed, the young girl’s eyes growing wide.

“Were you spying on us?” Meelo sounded suspicious. Beside him, Naga let out a low snarl. 

“What’s that?” Kai asked as he and Jinora reappeared on the scene, drawn by the sounds of Bolin’s despair and the mysterious arrival of the man with the camera. 

“This my young friend, is a mover-maker.” The intruder called as he took long, stalky steps toward the small group. He didn’t offer to help his companion heft the contraption, and his blue eyes gleamed as he approached, “It’s for making movies!”

Now that Opal could see his face, she let out a small groan—it was Mr. Varrick. He wasn’t exactly a family friend, but he had invested in more than one of her father’s projects, and she knew her mother found him amusing. 

But thinking of her family suddenly sent Opal blushing all over again—what if Mr. Varrick were to run into them? What if he told her mother what she’d been up to? 

The idea made her feel a little sick. 

“I’m sorey, can we 'elp you?” Bolin demanded, taking a step forward to put himself between the man he did not know and Opal and the kids. 

Opal could see that his fists were clenched and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of gratitude, even after she’d behaved so meanly, Bolin was taking great pains to keep her safe in his company, like he’d promised. 

“Actually, I think you can!” Mr. Varrick boomed, and he had that almost too bright look in his eye that Opal knew meant he was in the middle of one of his schemes, “If you could just move about three feet to the right—yes! Right there!”

As he spoke, Varrick had clapped Bolin on the shoulder and now maneuvered him ever so slightly to find the light outside of the smokestack’s shadow. 

“Ha! Perfect!”

The tension left Bolin’s shoulders—but that was because he was so confused he just blinked owlishly at the taller man. 

“What?” 

“Don’t move!” Varrick ordered. He darted over in a flash to grab Opal’s wrist.

“Now you! Yes, just where you were before, but this time—sadder!” Varrick shouted. 

“Sadder?” Bolin repeated, his eyebrows furrowing together. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” Varrick grinned ghoulishly, “Sadder! More emotion, my broad shouldered youth! Fall to your knees if you have to! The woman’s just broken your heart, refused your love and insulted your name! Don’t take it lying down! Plead with her! Beg her with your eyes!”

“Ouch.” Kai observed, looking impressed but as if he were trying to hide it as he leaned against the rail near a wary looking Jinora.

There was a gasp from behind the intruder and Bolin’s eyes darted to the other stranger, the one setting up the wooden camera. Ikki and Meelo had both slunk closer to inspect the contraption, and Ikki was on her tiptoes, peering into the depths of the box with the assistance of the stranger dressed in far less gaudy clothes than the mustached intruder. 

Ikki lifted her head and shot Bolin an awed grin.

“He’s making a feature! Daddy took us to a nickelodeon once—”

“I don’t remember that.” Meelo huffed, crossing his thin arms over his chest. 

Ikki just rolled her eyes. 

“That’s because you were still a baby.” Jinora informed her brother coolly.

“Exactly!” Ikki squealed, “It was just Daddy and Jinora and Aunt Kya and me. You stayed home.” 

“Who’s aunt Kya?” Meelo demanded, tilting his head to one side. 

“Wait a second!” Bolin frowned, his head still spinning. He pointed at the intruder, “You—you’ve been filming us?”

"You’re darn tootin’!” The intruder grinned. “I couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this!”

“Opportunity?” Bolin parroted. 

“Yes, precisely! You see, I’m trying to capture the essence of one of the greatest, most gripping stories ever told for a dinner party this evening, and I’ve been hauling old Bertha here from aft to stern trying to find the perfect location—” 

“Is that the name of your camera?” Ikki asked. She had generously given up her perch for peering into the eyepiece so that her brother could take his turn. 

“Yes!” The man exclaimed with a flourish. “You see the crowd I’ve got to present to tonight is starved for entertainment and I really just wanna blow their darn socks off!” 

“Yeah!” Meelo let out a whoop of agreement and lifted his fist in solidarity. 

“Tha’s all fine an’ dandy, Mr. feature-maker-man, but wha’s tha’ got'a do with us?” Bolin demanded. 

He almost wished he hadn’t asked when the intruder’s mustache quivered as it turned up into an even more frightening grin. 

“Why _everything_ of course!” The man shouted as if that were perfectly obvious, “Nowhere else on this ship am I going to find two young people so perfect to play the roles I need! And you’ve got the wolf too! It’s absolutely perfect!”

“Now Varrick,” Opal finally found her voice, but that only brought Mr. Varrick sliding into her side all the quicker with his arm flung around her neck,

“I mean—look at those eyes! So expressive! So child-like in their wonder! You, my dear are absolutely perfect to play my damsel in distress!” 

“Hey!” Bolin protested, not sure if he should intervene. He took a half-step toward the intruder—this, Varrick fellow, but nearly stumbled, his movements were so stilted and uncertain.

“And you my boy!” Varrick hailed as he zipped back over to Bolin’s side, “Look at these shoulders! That confident pizzazz! You are absolutely perfect to play my hero! My man of the hour! My sea-faring Hercules!” 

“Hercules!” Ikki giggled behind her hands, obviously delighted. 

“What a weird name.” Meelo laughed.

“It’s Greek.” Jinora huffed. 

“Wow. You’re really smart.” Kair observed. 

“Thank you.” Jinora blushed. 

“I don’ know—tha _is_ a really weird name, an' tha' all sounds, kind'a fun actually,” Bolin said slowly, glancing down and away from Mr. Varrick’s gleaming, excited eyes. 

“But,” Bolin swallowed and then slowly dragged his eyes up to Opal, “before ye showed up we were kind o' in t'e middle o' goodbye, so I think I’d better jest get Opal back te her—”

“Nonesense!” Varrick bellowed. Bolin winced at the volume. “Believe me my young Pericles, that was an incredibly well-acted scene. Very moving. If not quite sad enough—”

“He’s right.” Opal interrupted, crossing the deck quickly—hating that it had taken her this long to speak up. But Varrick had that large and loud personality that seemed to sap all of the attention and energy of everyone else—she had simply fallen under his spell. 

“I—I didn’t mean it, Bolin.” Opal said quickly, her voice cracking slightly. 

“Ye didn’t?” Bolin asked, his face brightening considerably. 

“Of course not!” Opal promised, “I—I was teasing. I’m sorry. I just didn’t like the idea of being kept out of a secret, I suppose. I don’t know why I—” 

“It’s okay, it’s really—”

“Alright!” Varrick interrupted, making a violent crossing motion with his arms as if dispelling whatever misunderstanding had gotten the two lovers there in the first place, “Are we all done apologizing? Yes? Good? Good! Now we’ve got to move the camera again because we’re losing the light! You two, rest your gams a minute. You there, bald boy! Grab that thing! And you, giggle girl! Get that other thing!”

“What thing?” Ikki asked, practically spinning in a circle to look.

“The _thing_!” Varrick shouted back, as if that should clear the matter right up. 

Bolin swayed where he stood when Varrick suddenly disappeared from his side and he gaped after him for a moment, but when he glanced back at Opal, his smile turned shy and soft again. He clasped his hands behind his back and sidled closer.

“Yer shore this is al’righ with ye?” Bolin asked as they watched Varrick giving orders to his assistant and two new recruits. 

“Of course,” Opal nodded, “My parents have known Varrick for a long time. I know how hard it is to say no to him.”

“He knows how ta' pitch a story, tha’s fer shore.” Bolin chuckled. 

Opal laughed along with him, glad that the tension seemed to have passed. 

“You know, there was a time when I was a little girl that I thought I’d run away and become an artist somewhere, living in a garret, poor but free.” Opal said softly.

It was the first bit of truly personal insight Opal had offered and Bolin turned his smile on her, amazed. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Opal grinned and then seemed to shrink slightly when she caught Bolin’s eye, shy once again, “But after talking to you—I realize just how silly that was. I—I don’t think I would’ve lasted more than a few days.”

“Yeah,” Bolin agreed lightly, “There’s not a lot o' caviar in t'e poor man’s market—”

“Listen buster, I hate caviar!” Opal objected with a feigned affronted gasp. 

Bolin just laughed.

“And I’m tired of people dismissing my dreams with a chuckle and a pat on the head.”

“I’m sorey.” Bolin laughed, “Really, I am. What else do ye dream of?”

Opal’s breath caught and she didn’t flinch away when she caught Bolin’s eye this time,

“I—I don’t know.” She murmured.

“Shore ye do.” Bolin encouraged, “Jest this morning ye were a princess in t'e General Room an' now yore a moving picture actress! Ye can be anythin'! An artist, a dancer—

“Like Isadora Duncan?” Opal interrupted. Her cheeks were heating up, but she thought the idea pleased her—the idea of giving in to something wild and untame in her chest. To letting her spirit free. 

“O’ course!” Bolin grinned, “Anythin' ye like!” 

Opal felt a warmth the likes of which she’d never felt before flooding her veins and she took a sharp breath— _yes_ , she thought, _he is going to be my first great love. Even if it’s just for today—what a marvelous day it will be._

“Alright!” Varrick’s voice came booming from the foredeck and Bolin and Opal both lifted their heads. “That’s enough resting! We’re losing the light! I need my love birds! Let’s get this picture rolling!”


	19. The Pact

The afternoon turned deep, and both the sky and sea were painted with a scarlet, almost orange light. Many of the passengers began retreating below-decks, to change for dinner or simply because they had grown tired of the look of the sea, calm, but never changing. So vast it made one feel small. 

Asami was aware that the hour had grown late—but there hadn’t only been a change in the social landscape about the deck. There had been some upheaval within herself as well. 

Speaking with Korra had made Asami—bold. 

Enough so that she took Korra’s hand now without hesitation and dragged her up to A Deck, to the very fringes of her world. Korra had been right—she knew it was dangerous. Even with so few people still out and about, there were prying eyes. _Disapproving_ eyes.

But Asami couldn’t find it in herself to care. She’d never felt so— _happy_. Just to be understood. To have someone else say aloud things she had been too afraid for so long to admit to herself—it was as if in saying them, Korra had somehow set her free. Had unlocked some part of Asami that she had believed to be too mangled and broken to ever be shown the light. 

But now—now it was out. 

And she didn’t want to hide it away ever again. 

She led Korra aft, to where there were even fewer passengers, and more crewmen acting as glorified guards to maintain the area and keep people like Korra out—Asami just gripped Korra’s hand tighter and kept her chin up. She walked with purpose, exuding a confidence that Korra was very much responsible for—and that seemed to do the trick. No one bothered them, and Asami was able to take Korra right out onto the promenade, so they could look out over the bulk of the ship and the people so small and indistinct below them. Up here—Asami felt untouchable. 

“I wish I could see the world the way you do, Korra.” Asami admitted as she gazed down at that far-away buzz of activity. 

Korra joined her at the rail, her short hair ruffled more thoroughly up here. 

“You do?”

“Oh yes.” Asami sighed and gestured around them. “For you, this is all some grand gift, isn’t it?”

Korra hummed in agreement as she tilted her head and gazed thoughtfully over the people milling below, and then shifted her eyes to the complex woman beside her. 

“And for you it’s not?”

Asami shook her head, a sad look coming into her eyes.

“No. I wanted to study at Oxford. To have a _life_. But every day we get closer to America, the further we leave my dreams behind.” Asami admitted. 

Korra let out a low whistle. She ran a hand through her hair, her expression thoughtful. 

“Well you know, just because something seems far off doesn’t mean you’ll never get there.” 

Asami frowned, glancing at Korra, but Korra just shrugged.

“I told you I left home when I was young—I went to live with an uncle of mine and get a taste of the real world. My uncle is a—very spiritual man. And he had his own ideas about what was best for me. But I wanted—I don’t know, something _more_. I wanted to go to Paris, to study real artists and travel, but my uncle thought that was crazy. He wanted me to settle down and be more practical. He refused to pay for a voyage, so I went down to Los Angeles, to the pier in Santa Monica and sketched portraits there for ten cents apiece.”

“Ten cents!” Asami was aghast. Korra’s work was worth so much more than that. 

Korra just chuckled. 

“I know, I know—it was a rotten plan. But I was thirteen. And stubborn. I had _no idea_ how hard it was going to be just to get from day to day out on my own, but you know, I had this dream and I didn’t care how long it took me to get there.”

“But you got there.” Asami smiled.

Her heart started beating all the faster when Korra flashed her one of her grins. 

“Yeah, I did. But you know the great thing was—once I got there, I got to find a new dream. Life is—just full of change, and I had to learn to take every day, no matter how hard, as a gift, and tell myself it was all working toward my next dream, even if I couldn’t see how it would all work out yet.”

“That’s highly philosophical of you.” Asami remarked dryly.

Korra rolled her eyes, but she was still grinning. 

“Well, say you can’t go to Oxford for now.” She turned the tables easily, her tone even, almost light and teasing, “That isn’t to say that you _never_ will. And if you can’t go there, mayber there’s someplace in America that can teach you—what was it again?”

“Engineering.” Asami murmured, glancing away. 

Korra’s eyes went a little wide, but then she chuckled softly.

“Yeah, okay. That makes total sense.”

Asami snapped her head back around so quickly she was sure a few of her curls that Zhu Li had so meticulously pinned up this morning came free. 

“That wasn’t a joke.” Asami said sharply.

But Korra already had her hands up in apology,

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound like I was questioning—I only meant it all makes sense now. Your hands, I mean.”

Asami lifted an eyebrow. “My hands?”

There was a beat of expectant silence and Korra blushed, _deeply._

“Spirits, _please_ don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s just—” Korra sucked in her cheeks and bit down on her tongue, trying to think of some magic words that might save her from further offending the woman beside her, “it’s just, your hands are so incredible, Asami. They’re rough and so beautifully lined and I—I mean that in the best way! Believe me, I—I am fascinated by your hands! I’d love to draw them—”

Asami blinked, getting a little lost in Korra’s rambling. But one thing was clear—Korra wanted to draw her. Well, her hands at least. 

And Asami felt a raging heat burning in her chest—because she wanted Korra to draw her too. It had been a fleeting, almost shy thing before, but now—now the idea had taken root. And it had strength. 

Asami licked her lips.

Korra paused to take a deep breath and sighed, shaking her head in futility. 

“—and I just meant that, it makes sense now. Why your hands are so incredible. It’s—it’s because you build things.”

Asami’s nostrils flared, but she masked it with a slight huff, 

"I _fix_ things.” Asami corrected as she tore her eyes away from Korra’s clear blue eyes. She had the strange notion that her heart was pounding so loudly it may be possible for Korra to hear it, so she curled in on herself, giving in to the sudden ache in her chest. She crossed her arms over the rail and leaned forward to rest her chin on them—ignoring the knowledge that doing so curved her shoulders forward in a very unladylike way.

She closed her eyes against that strange, burning sensation and the general— _roaring_ in her ears and tried to calm her breathing.

“The truth is—Oxford wasn’t really the dream. I mean, it would have been just for me, and maybe that’s why I wanted it so badly, but as wonderful as if would have been, it really would have been a means to an even—to an even bigger dream.” Asami took a deep breath, “All I’ve ever really wanted was to work with my father. He’s a genius. An inventor, and I just thought—if I had a degree, maybe then he’d take me seriously.”

Korra frowned slightly and draped her own forearms against the rail and braced as she gazed out over the prow of the ship toward the horizon. Beside her, Asami took a sharp breath, her eyes on the bulge of Korra’s straining muscles. 

"Asami, I know it’s none of my business,” Korra started gently, careful to keep her tone low and her eyes fixed ahead so she wouldn’t seem too intrusive, “but—have you—talked? To your father about this?”

Asami closed her eyes and tried to fight the sudden sting of tears she knew were always lurking. She was _not_ going to cry in front of Korra again. 

Not when they were finally having what resembled an honest conversation—the thing she needed so desperately. 

“Of course I have. So many times. He doesn’t listen.” 

Korra sucked in a breath and nodded grimly. 

“Does he—? I mean, does he _know_? How close you came the other night to—ahh?”

Asami squeezed her eyes tighter against that familiar wash of shame that seemed to sap her of all energy. 

“Can we talk about something else?” She snapped, flinching at the harshness of her own voice. And then she added, softer, “Please?”

Korra swallowed thickly, pained. She wanted to protest, to press further—she had a feeling they were bordering on things that Asami needed to get off her chest. But she also hated that she’d brought the woman so near to tears again. She’d rather make her smile again. Or even roll her eyes with that cute little huff she seemed to do so often. 

So she relented. 

“What would you like to talk about?” 

Asami simply breathed for several moments, thinking. 

Korra was still beside her, waiting.

“Will you tell me more about Alaska? About finding Naga?” She finally asked.

Korra grinned.

“Sure.”

She’d forgotten that she’d started down that tangent earlier in their walk and then moved on without truly exploring it. She’d been nervous—floundering for some topic that would strike Asami’s interest and get her _really_ talking instead of simply listening. It sent a pang of warmth shooting to the very ends of her fingertips to know that Asami had been listening all along. Even to those stilted first attempts at conversation that she’d considered failures. 

“Right, so—there was this one winter, when I was still pretty young,” Korra began, brushing the hair from her eyes, “when this pack of wolves stayed close to us for at least a week straight—and every night we could hear them howling as we sat together around the fire to share stories. They were so close—I mean, I’d heard them before, all my life really, but they always seemed so—far off. Almost mystical. I’d never seen one. But suddenly they sounded like they were right outside the tent. I thought they sounded like music.” 

Asami hummed, enjoying the feeling of the cool breeze and the cadence of Korra’s voice—she thought Korra sounded like music too.

“Some of the elders, they thought it was a bad omen, and there were a bunch of warriors who wanted to go out and try to kill the wolves, thinking they may scare off all the game, or worse, come rooting through our stores, but my father convinved them not to. He said they would move on, like they always do, and a few nights later, it was quiet for the first time in a long time. There was a snowstorm that night, and I couldn’t sleep. I kept listening for the wolves, but there was nothing. I’d almost given up and turned over to sleep, but then I did hear something—it sounded like a wolf, but it was—all alone. And I remembered my father had always said that the wolves were a lot like the tribe, together they stay strong but if one gets separated—it usually doesn’t survive. And I thought that was sad, so I got it into my head that if I could find this lone wolf and bring it home it might make it through the night, so I packed some dried jerkey and went out looking for it—”

Asami let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a squeak, “You went out _alone_?” 

Korra shrugged, “Well—yeah.” 

“At _night_?” Asami demanded. 

Korra sighed, “Asami, I think we’ve already established that I was not the best decision maker in my formative years—”

“I’ll say.” Asami muttered. 

Korra ignored her,

“ _Anyway_ , I got lost for a bit, because—like I said, there was a snow storm blowing through, but _the point is_ , eventually I found this little wolf pup out in the snow and she just looked so cold and helpless—I fed her my jerky and we found a hollowed log to spend the night in and then we were friends for life.” 

Korra finished her story with a loud clap that almost startled Asami right out of her skin. 

“Wait. That’s it?” Asami sounded incredulous. 

“Yup.”

Asami glared at Korra for a moment, “But that’s—well, what did your father say?”

“Oh, my father wanted to shoot her.” Korra admitted with a shrug. “My mother screamed. They were sure I’d been eaten by something, so when they found me curled up with a wolf, even though she was just a baby, it was—a bit of a shock. But I wouldn’t let them take her from me and my father was furious, and the whole village seemed to be on his side, except for our healing woman, Katara. She said I must have found my spirit guide, or something like that, but I think what really changed his mind was when he saw how much faster Naga was than anybody on his own team and I convinced him I was going to train her to be my lead—”

Asami’s head was spinning again, trying to process so much information at once gave her a headache. She furrowed her brow, trying to concentrate—to find one point of clarity to latch onto. 

“His team? Your—your lead?” 

Korra’s eyes grew wide and she rubbed at the back of her neck. “Errm, right. So I told you that Alaska has very harsh winters. It’s so green in the warm season, but in the winter _, everything_ changes. There’s so much snow, there’s no way you could keep roads clear—especially not in the mountains, so really mushing is the only way to go—”

“You mean—with the sleds? You’re talking about a team of—dogs?” Asami queried, finally seeming to get some color back in her cheeks. 

Korra nodded. “Yup.” 

Asami swallowed, “Isn’t that—dangerous?”

Korra laughed, “Well, I guess so. Most of the time the team only knows one speed—forward, and all you can do is hold on. _Tightly_.”

Asami took a moment ot consider what that might be like. To go soaring over snow through foggy trees into the unknown. She knew how to ride—sidesaddle, anyway. But it was all so very controlled. She knew how to handle a horse. But she’d never ridden one outside of a show arena or training grounds, under the watchful eyes of instructors and trainers, so it felt like a shoddy comparison. 

Perhaps driving a car drew a closer parallel. She’d always loved pushing her father’s contraptions to the very limit of their speed capabilities. It was one of her most treasured thrills.

But to surrender that control to a group of _dogs_?

“I—don’t know if that sounds very agreeable.” Asami murmured. 

Korra shook her head, “It’s not. It’s murder on your knees if you don’t lean into the turns properly, and the wind is torture, it eats into your skin and you go numb for hours.”

Asami nodded dimly, watching Korra’s eyes as she remembered these things. There was fondness in them—and a twinkle of something like longing. 

“But it is _such_ a rush though—it’s like flying, Asami.” Korra whispered, turning to look at her full on, and Asami’s breath caught.

“Could you show me?” Asami asked without really considering the implications of her question—that in order to be _shown how_ to go sledding with the dogs, she would first have to go to Alaska. And the fact that she had asked the question while staring directly into Korra’s mesmerizing blue eyes also implied that she was asking this question of Korra herself—meaning that the person she wanted to _show her how_ to sled was _Korra_. Which meant that hypothetically they would need to be in Alaska _together_ for this to happen. Which was—so very far removed from everything that Asami knew to be inevitable in her future that it gave her a bit of whiplash.

But though Asami’s head was spinning, Korra didn’t miss a beat. 

“If you like.” She grinned. “But you’d have to be willing to let me lead, though, at least for your first run, you wouldn’t be able to race me…”

Asami scoffed—secretly impressed that Korra had somehow caught on to her competitive nature so quickly. 

“I suppose I could control myself. Just this once.” 

Korra’s grin grew even wider, “Alright then, we’ll do it. Once you’ve gotten the hang of it, we’ll take the train to Nome and sled all the way home to Anchorage, right on the Iditarod trail, like real racers. Winner’ll buy the other some cheap beer from the B&B. I mean, if you’re up for it.”

The challenge was clear in her smug tone. In the way she’d crossed her arms over her chest and flipped her hair out of her eyes with a graceful jerk of her head. 

Asami glared and looked down her nose at the other woman, her own lips twitching into a smirk, working against the weight of all logic telling her that this was all just theory. It could never happen, “I’m game, if you are. Even if we only ever just talk about it.”

Korra let out a triumphant whoop 

“No, no, we’ll do it! I’ll even let you have Naga so you can get a head start. We’ll almost freeze our butts off, but it’ll be so much fun. We’ll sleep under the stars every night, just you and me.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Asami breathed, unable to stop herself from absorbing Korra’s enthusiasm.

“Right then, we’ll have to shake on it.” Korra announced, her eyes twinkling. 

Asami rolled her eyes at the childish notion, even though her heart was still pounding, caught up in the fantasy. 

Of the idea—of the rush of it. Of following Korra anywhere. Of taking her lead. 

Of the two of them, chasing each other into forever. 

Asami was shaken out of her blissful imaginings when Korra spat, rather _loudly,_ right into her palm. She stared, disgusted—and let out a rather undignified squeal when Korra extended that same hand glistening with spit in her direction. 

“Eww! Korra—”

“Oh, come on.” Korra huffed, “This isn’t some half-baked pipe-dream, okay, this is a _pact_. And we seal the _pact_ with spit.”

“That’s disgusting!” Asami whined. 

“Would you prefer—blood?” Korra asked, wriggling her eyebrows in a way that made Asami laugh. 

“Ugh! You’re deranged!” 

“It’s just _spit_.” Korra emphasized. Then she got a thoughtful look in her eye, “Don’t you know how to—”

“Of course I know how to spit.” Asami snapped. “Everyone knows how to spit. It is a necessary bodily function.” 

Korra’s hand was still outstretched. She gestured impatiently, “Well, then…” 

Asami looked away. She looked up to the darkening purple of the sky, then over to the water that reflected the setting sun in choppy waves. She looked over her shoulder, then back up to the sky. 

There was no one watching. 

No one but Korra. And her stare was deep. And sharp. 

Asami huffed and scrunched up her face—she wasn’t going to do it. It was absurd. Really, it was. She was _never_ going to go to Alaska. She was going to _New York_. To _New York City_ , right in the heart of Society in the West. With its skyscrapers and endless, busy sidewalks, it was—it was on the completely _opposite side of the country_. She was going to get married and stay put. She was never going to Oxford. Or anywhere else for that matter. She would probably never even see Korra again—

And _that_ was what had Asami lifting her hand close to her face so that she could spit, as demurely as she possibly could, into her palm. 

It was revolting. It was— _pathetic_. There was so little of it. Asami was a little bit disappointed in herself. 

And as soon as she lifted her eyes to Korra’s narrowed blue ones, she knew Korra was a little bit disappointed in her too. 

“That was pitiful.” Korra said, unimpressed. 

Asami gritted her teeth and tried again, trying to summon the moisture that she fervently wished she hadn’t given up to those ridiculous tears earlier in the day.

“Seriously?” Korra tsked. “Alright, lesson one. First, you have to hawk it down, don’t be afraid to go deep, alright?” 

Korra demonstrated, and the sound she produced grated against Asami’s every nerve. 

“But that’s disgusting!”

“It-th a _pact_!” Korra croaked around the spit she was still holding in her mouth. “Roll ith on yoar tone-gue, up tow the front, like thith—”

Asami clenched her fists, but found herself trying to copy Korra—from nearly shaking herself to pieces when she tried to ‘hawk’ as much moisture as she could from the depths of her esophagus, to nearly collapsing in revulsion the moment she could feel that icky, gluey substance sliding on her tongue

“Goo-d!” Korra cheered, almost choking herself, “Noaw—big breath and—spit!”

Asami did as she was instructed—and was amazed at just how much spittle she was able to produce. It sat foamy and sticky in her palm. 

It took every ounce of refinement in her being not to immediately scream and shake her hand in a desperate attempt to be rid of it. 

“Korra! It’s gross!” Asami whined, her voice high pitched.

“Alright, alright—three, two, there!” Korra chose to offer an out to Asami’s problem by clasping her hand then, to forcing their sticky spits together. 

Asami shuddered, fighting the instinct to pull away. 

“There.” Korra repeated, somehow drawing Asami in again with just one word. There was a new seriousness to her tone and Asami was immediately quieted. She couldn’t even bring herself to laugh at the thin line of spittle that had clung to Korra’s chin, evidence of what they’d just done. 

“Now we have a spit-pact. You can’t go back on it.” 

Asami’s heart swelled with—with all the things she wanted to say. _I won’t. I’ll never go back on it. I’ll be there, I swear._

But she was so caught up in Korra’s eyes—in the quiet understanding that had fallen over them, that it hit her rather suddenly that their heavy breathing was not the only panting she could hear closeby. They were no longer alone. And those words binding Asami to Korra remained unsaid as she turned her head and blanched—she wanted to disappear.

“Father.” 

Korra slowly tore her eyes away from Asami and followed her gaze to the entrance to the promenade—to a group of finely dressed women, and particularly the man, who were staring right at them. Korra didn’t try to fight it when Asami tugged her hand free. The raven haired woman stepped forward, subtly trying to both smooth her hair down and swipe her palm over her skirt, to clean it of spit. 

Korra couldn’t see her face, but her voice was strained. 

“Father. Mrs. Raiko. Ms. Beifong. Su. Forgive me, I-I didn’t see you there. May I introduce, Korra Dawson.” 

The small party had already been staring, with varying degrees of surprise, shock, and abject horror on their faces for some time now—and Korra did her best to offer a charming smile as she inclined her head—tried not to be too obvious as she stared particularly at the portly man seeming to head the group. This was the man Asami had spoken of so fondly, the one she loved so dearly—the one who had caused her such pain. 

He had a stern face, thick jowls. Deep set eyes that looked far darker, and beadier than Asami’s soft spring green. He wore circular spectacles, and every button on his vest gleamed like gold. He looked absolutely affronted. 

“Ah, yes—Korra. She must be the one Varrick’s going on about.” A woman with plenty of wrinkles and hair artificially dark whispered conspiratorially. 

“That’s correct. Miss Dawson was of great assistance to me last night. She saved my life.” Asami said almost stiffly. Her forced smile hurt her cheeks. 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The woman in green offered the blue-eyed heroine with gracious warmth. 

The other woman said nothing. She just scowled, one eyebrow raised critically. 

Korra caught herself staring at the two scars on her cheek and flushed when she was caught. She cleared her throat and glanced away. 

“Father.” Asami tried again, a desperate plea threatening to crack her voice. 

Hiroshi Sato’s disapproval was hidden well, but Asami could see it. He gripped the lining of his vest pockets tightly, drawing the silky material taunt across his chest rather than slipping his hands down into the pockets of his trousers, in a more accepting, relaxed posture. His shoulders were tense. His jaw was set. 

But more importantly—his eyes were hard as flint. He looked at Korra as if she were a threat—not a snake or something of that nature that could be avoided. He looked at her as if she were an insect that must be squashed quickly. 

“Charmed.” Her father growled, “I’m sure.” 

“Well, Korra, it certainly sounds as if you’re just the person to have around in a sticky spot.” Suyin said brightly to try to cut some of the tension. 

Asami was grateful. She was not grateful, however, for the sudden curious look she received from Su’s sister, Lin. Or for the question she posited her way,

“What have you done with Opal?” 

Because her heart had already been falling, falling because once again her father was angry with her, but now it went _splat_ and she took a hard breath. _Spirits_ , she’d forgotten all about Opal!

Before Asami could even begin to consider how to answer, there was a loud crash behind them, and the entire company turned to see Mr. Varrick yelling at one of his lackeys near the stairwell. 

“Be careful with that! Don’t you know that thing is worth more than your pension?!” 

“Varrick!” Suyin hailed, offering a hand that the eccentric gentleman immediately kissed once he’d drawn close enough. 

“Suyin! Madam Raiko! Lin! You are all looking as radiant as a pair of pearls!” Varrick proclaimed. 

Asami’s eye twitched. She supposed she could be grateful for this reprieve from her father’s quiet anger, but she remembered all too well what had happened the last time Mr. Varrick had interfered in her affairs—absolute _disaster_. 

“Aha!” The thin man exclaimed when he noticed Korra standing just beyond Asami’s shoulder, “There she is! The woman of the hour! I trust you all have met our dashing young hero?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Hiroshi muttered cryptically. 

Asami cringed. 

Varrick went over to clap his arm around Korra’s shoulder, the glint in his eye less a twinkle and more of a hungry glint. 

“I hope you’re ready for tonight! I have a great surprise for you, Miss Dawson. I have been working all day, filming a feature based entirely on your story!”

It was Korra’s turn to blanche. 

“I—sorry, what?” 

“Oh, don’t act so coy! I told you last night, what we have before us is the makings of a great adventure story! You’re a legend! The danger! The thrills! And now I’ve recreated it for the whole ship to see!” 

Korra’s wide eyes darted to Asami, but Varrick had swiveled slightly so he could glance again at Suyin, “You know, your daughter really is a talented little actress. I might just have to borrow her more often, Su.” 

“Opal helped you with your film?” Suyin asked, sounding surprised, but pleased. 

“Of course she did!” Varrick shouted, hooking his spare arm around Asami to draw her into the fold, “You couldn’t expect me to use these two, could you? Eyewitness accounts are never good for theatrical re-telling!”

Asami blinked, not sure she could refute that logic, but before any more could be said, the bugler let out a loud call just above them—several loud blasts that echoed all over the ship. Mrs. Raiko let out a little gasp and spilled some of the sherry she had in her hand. 

“My goodness—” The woman cried. 

“Right, then.” Hiroshi said, rubbing his hands together. “That’s our call, then.”

“Why do they insist on always announcing dinner like a damn cavalry charge?” Lin Beifong demanded, turning to glare up accusingly at the sky. 

“You behave yourself.” Suyin chided.

Hiroshi held out his arm. “Asami. We’d best go change.” 

It was spoken like a command—no room for argument. And Asami found herself obeying as if in a daze, stepping forward to fold her arm carefully through her father’s as she’d done a thousand times before. 

Korra watched her go with a sinking feeling in her stomach. 

“Look at you. Out here all day without a hat? No wonder you look so flushed, Sweetie.” Hiroshi observed as he started to lead his daughter away. “You coming too, Varrick?”

“Of course, of course!” Varrick squeezed Korra by the shoulders. “See you at dinner!” 

Several feet ahead, Asami roused herself.

She twisted in her father’s grip, her green eyes desperate as she peered around shoulders for one last glimpse of strong and steady blue,

“Korra?”

Korra caught her eye and lifted her hand in a sort of wave. It took some effort. She was overwhelmed with a sense of dread, missing Asami already, and her limbs felt like lead. 

Relief flooded Asami immediately and she smiled,

“Soon.” She called. 

Korra nodded, but didn’t say anything after. She watched Asami go, sighing deeply as soon as she lost sight of her black, glistening curls. 

“Well that was painful to watch.” A dry voice observed. 

Korra almost jumped. It was the woman with the scars. She was slightly more intimidating up close as she peered down at her. 

Korra swallowed and stuck the hand not clutching her notebook deep into her trouser pocket and tried not to squirm. 

There was nothing particularly dangerous about the woman’s aura, but—perhaps it was the knowing smirk on her lips. Or that slightly acerbaic tone. Either way, Korra had the distinct feeling she’d been caught out—but caught doing _what_ exactly, she didn’t know. 

“Lin! Are you coming?” One of the women had doubled back, the one in green. She had a warm countenance and a chin that looked similar to the woman with the scars—the one she’d called Lin. 

“We need to find, Opal.” The approaching woman continued, though she seemed to be muttering to herself, “I’m sure she’ll need my help getting ready.” 

“Opal can wait.” Lin growled, “She’s old enough to dress herself, Su.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Suyin sighed, bringing her palms up to her cheeks as if she were feeling warm. 

“ _This one_ though,” Lin said lowly, turning her eyes back on Korra, her lips barely moving to maintain a grim line, “I’m not so sure about.” 

Korra frowned, glancing down at her trousers and baggy red shirt before glancing back up at the unimpressed eyes of the woman with the scars.

“I dressed myself this morning.” She pointed out.

Lin Beifong ground her teeth and rolled her eyes skyward, as if she were having a private argument with the first of the stars coming out in the sky. 

“Which only proves that you are either very brave—or just very stupid.” She said lowly.

“Lin!” Her sister scolded immediately, shooting her a warning glare before turning to Korra, “She didn’t mean that.”

“Of course I did.” Lin sniffed, crossing her arms over her black and grey gossamer gown, “She’s about to go into the wolf’s den. They’ll eat her up.” 

Korra almost scoffed—almost said, _Asami thinks I’m brave and that’s good enough for me,_ but then she remembered those looks she’d been getting all morning, just for walking with the first class lady. They were the same looks she’d gotten her entire life, from the moment she left the tribe and stepped out into the real, jaded world. She’d grown a tough skin—she’d had to. Had to learn not to give up even when her drawing pencils were broken by her spiteful cousins or when doors were slammed in her face by angry, misguided people. But sometimes the disgust, the _revulsion_ she saw still made her skin crawl, made her want to dive into her sketchbook and draw softer eyes—greener eyes. 

And she thought back to the night before—to the feel of those angry, tearing hands so ready to clap her in irons simply because she looked the part—dark skin, patched clothes, hunger-panged frame. She was the other. The outsider. 

She hadn’t lied when she’d told Asami she’d been through worse. 

She also hadn’t lied when she’d told Asami that going after what she wanted was hard—dangerous even. 

The truth was, Korra needed to believe they were both brave. But she knew this stranger had a point as well—in her life, bravery and stupidity had always been very closely intertwined.

Korra shook her head to clear it—the two matronly sisters were still squabbling. 

“—say such things, Lin. They’re really not that bad.”

“You’re right. I gave them too much credit.” Lin grumbled, “They’re more like snakes. It’s a snakepit. They won’t just tear her to pieces. The’ll poison her slowly.” 

Korra finally cleared her throat, drawing the attention of the two ladies. 

“You know I am right here.” She pointed out, brushing the hair from her eyes. 

“Of course you are, dear.” Su said quickly. She took a few steps toward Korra, her expression a little remorseful, “We do apologize for—”

“I don’t.” Lin drawled. 

“Lin!” Su groaned again, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as she glared, “You’re not helping!”

“Listen,” Korra tried to interject, “I really appreciate your concern, bu—”

“Do you have the slightest comprehension of what you’re doing?” Lin interrupted. 

Korra had to laugh, “No. Not really.”

The woman huffed impatiently, and shot her sister a pointed look, “You see? Every reason to be concerned.”

“But,” Korra drew out the word until both women turned their focus to her once more, “I think I can handle it. Snakes need charmers, right? I can be charming.”

Suyin clapped her hands together and laughed, delighted. 

Lin just rolled her eyes. 

Korra grinned, “And wolves? Where I come from, wovles aren’t to be feared, they’re respected.” 

“Marvelous!” Suyin beamed. She turned a smug smile her sister’s way, “I think she’s got you there, Lin.” 

The older sibling let out a long suffering sigh. She narrowed her eyes and studied Korra’s face for a long moment, as if searching for a crack in her confidence.

Korra tried to stand very still. But it was difficult. She puffed out her chest and tried to keep her shoulders stiff, but after a moment she shifted her weight. 

Lin Beifong smirked.

“And just what exactly do you plan to wear?”

Korra groaned, deflating a little—she hadn’t really thought about it. 

“I thought so.” Lin drawled. 

“Oh dear.” Suyin said. She looked forlorn as she glanced over Korra’s outfit more thoroughly. 

But then she roused herself and drew herself up to her full height,

“You’d better come with us.” 


	20. The Perfect Fit

Korra didn’t know which lucky star was responsible for placing her in the path of the Beifongs, but she made a mental note to think them all before the night was through. 

She really couldn’t have asked for a better pair of squabbling guardian angels to dress her for her first ever state dinner—even if there was only really one person she wanted to impress. 

“Right, we’ll have you dressed up in no time!” Suyin Beifong had proclaimed rather optimistically as she’d tugged Korra right through her emaculate staterooms and into a closet simply _packed_ with clothes—men’s and women’s, large and small. Korra had gaped. 

“Five children.” Suyin had offered by way of explanation. “They grow so fast, I always buy things an extra two sizes too big, just in the hopes that someday I’ll catch up.” 

“What a nightmare.” Lin Beifong had muttered under her breath from where she was sitting on the bed, looking stiff and unapproachable.

“Nonsense. My children are a blessing.” Suying said brightly as she started opening further cabinets and hidden drawers to show off even more items—shoes and tiaras and watches and necklaces. 

“As you can see, Korra dear, we have a wide selection—” 

“Wow.” Korra whistled. 

“Now,” Suyin said more thoughtfully as she stepped closer to Korra and started to circle with a pinched look on her face—either determination or concentration, Korra wasn’t quite sure. Maybe it was a mixture of both. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t believe any of Opal’s dresses will be suitable—you have these wonderful shoulders, Korra,” Suyin stepped forward and gently smoothed down the material over Korra’s shoulders,

“And such a striking frame. I’d like to show them off, I just—I don’t think her dresses will fit you. You’re just built so differently.”

She said it so forlornly, Korra felt immediately compelled to reassure her, “That’s alright, I haven’t worn dresses since I was a little girl. There aren’t a lot of outfits that tailor to muscular or big boned women—none that I could ever afford anyway. I can breathe easier in breeches anyway.”

Suyin seemed to grimace, but nodded, “Well if you’re sure it’s alright—I’m almost certain at least one or two of Bataar Jr.’s tails will fit you perfectly.”

Korra let out a sigh of relief, “That’s—more than alright. Honestly, Mrs. Beifong, anything at all will be more than I deserve.” 

“Call me Su.” Suyin waved her hand dismissively, “And we’re more than happy to help, Korra. Anyone who can get poor Asami Sato to smile like that deserves all the praises in the world, don’t you agree, Lin?”

Korra almost choked on air—and she knew she was blushing profusely. Two things which seemed to amuse Lin Beifong immensely. 

The woman with the two scars grinned darkly. 

“Sure.” 

“You know, you could help Korra out of her clothes so we can get started instead of just _sitting_ there.” Suyin said with a sigh as she started pulling items down from inside the closet—jackets and trousers all pressed and clean. 

Lin eyed Korra, and for a terrifying moment, Korra thought the woman with the scars might do as she was bid just to get a rise out of Korra—but then, thankfully, the older woman let out something between a scoff and a snort. 

“I think I’ll pass.” Lin growled, “besides, if she can get into ‘em, she can certainly get out of ‘em.” 

“Alright then.” Su grunted as she dumped a rather large pile of clothes into her sister’s lap. “You can help me distinguish sizes—now, Opal’s room is just through there, Korra dear, if you’d like to dress down?”

“Oh, umm—sure.” Korra stammered, contorting slightly to look toward the direction Su had pointed—to the unassuming door on the far wall. “I’ll just umm—” 

Korra hesitated a moment and then dropped her notebook and pencils onto one of the divans along the wall before stepping through into the young woman’s room.

Korra didn’t know why she felt so—on edge. Intrusive. 

Maybe it was because she had barely given the girl named Opal half a moment’s thought because she’d been so completely overwhelmed with all things Asami from the moment those two glittering figures had stepped from her dreams and into the general room this morning at breakfast. She’d barely even noticed Asami’s shy companion. And she felt guilty for being in her space when she’d barely said more than a few words to her. 

Korra kept her eyes down and tried to undress quickly—tried not to let her eyes wonder, or let her mind start to make substitutions—to imagine Asami in a room just like this one. Sitting in front of a vanity just like Opal’s, her beautiful hands fondling perfume bottles and lotions. Those slender fingers brushing through black curls. But she couldn’t help it. What would Asami’s room smell like? Opal’s smelled sweet, almost like those 5₵ licorice pieces Bolin had once stolen for her birthday a few years back. But Korra couldn’t imagine Asami’s space would smell that way. Maybe something—brisker. Something like mint or old pine. Or maybe it would smell like engine oil and grease. Mechanical things. And what personal touches would Miss Sato allow? Opal Beifong had several pictures of family members arranged on her dresser, and a soft plush animal on the bed—

Korra took a sharp breath and turned away, absolutely refusing to let herself go so far as to imagine Asami Sato splayed out on her own four poster bed. That was just—so much worse than intrusive. 

That was _impossible._

Korra was grateful when there was a soft knock at the door. 

“You ready?” A gruff voice called. 

Korra sighed and brushed her hair from her eyes, “Yeah. I think so.” 

Lin Beifong pushed into the room, but kept her head turned pointedly to the side. 

“Su said we should find a pair of trousers you like first, and then build from there.” 

Korra nodded. 

“Fair enough.” She stepped forward to lift the stack of folded pants from Lin Beifong’s stiff arms. There were five pairs, all rather dark blacks, though there was one pair of charcoal grey. 

“Thanks.” Korra mumbled as she stepped back, fumbling with the fabric. 

Lin’s eyes darted up to Korra’s face and she nodded curtly, already starting to duck back out, but then she froze. Her steely green eyes going wide as Korra turned to carefully set the pants down on the bed, holding one pair back in her left hand. 

Korra frowned when she turned around and saw Lin Beifong staring. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost. 

“You alright?” Korra asked, tilting her head to the side. 

Lin startled, her face going stoic and unhappy again. “I’m fine.”

With that blatant lie, the grey haired woman stepped back and pulled the door shut after her with force. 

Korra frowned, but decided not to dwell on it. She focused on getting one leg, and then the other into the borrowed pants. 

None of them fit her perfectly. The legs were a little too long on many, and the grey pair were far too wide around her middle. But eventually she did settle on one pair that fit well enough once Suyin’s maid pinned them up a little. They were a little tighter than the breeches she was used to wearing, but she could walk and bow in them fine—she practiced, making Su laugh. 

Lin had apparently disappeared without giving an explanation. Which had sent Su muttering under her breath and calling for her maid, a petite, quiet woman named Trudy. 

Korra tried to be a good model. Tried not to complain or brush away Trudy’s hands too much when the maid seemed intent on tugging and pinning in places that were slightly uncomfortable. She felt strange—trying on all of these fine things while Su nodded or squealed her approval whenever she stole glances as she scurried about getting herself ready for the impending dinner. Korra was used to dressing practically, whether for an Alaskan winter or a hard road of travel, it didn’t really matter. She couldn’t ever really remember dressing up. Making a statement with her clothing. 

But for some reason, she kept stealing glances of herself in the corner of Opal’s mirror. 

She _wanted_ to look good. She _wanted_ to stand tall and striking—she wanted to be a credit to someone as beautiful as Asami. She needed to blend in. If only it meant she could stay by Asami’s side a little longer. 

“Right, good. How does that one feel?” Suyin was constantly peppering Korra with questions about the clothes. About how she felt in them. Whether or not she could still breathe. 

“This one does seem a bit long for her, Mistress.” The maid offered quietly, gesturing particularly to the coat-tails that trailed well below Korra’s knees. 

“Yes, well. No good then, is it?” Suyin sighed. She reached over and plucked the next one from the pile. “Here you go.”

“I’m sorry.” Korra sighed as she helped the maid tug the material away. There was a new grit to her jaw—she wanted to get this right. 

“What? Don’t be sorry, Korra dear, we just have to keep trying until we find the one that’s—” Suyin was cut off when the door to the suite crashed open. The woman’s grey eyebrows shot together suspiciously. 

“What on earth—” But then her face relaxed when a famiar barrage of voices flooded the too quiet staterooms. It was the rest of the Beifong clan, the beloved men of her life, come to change out of their leisure clothes and into dinner tails. 

“Ah yes, it’s my boys. Let me say a quick word before they come barging in.”

Su rose from her place and slipped out of Opal’s room with one more apologetic look to Korra. She then swept across her room to greet her family and hopefully deter them from coming any further into the room at the risk of disturbing their guest. 

A chorus of “evening mother,”’s drifted her way as her sons tramped through to their own quarters, both Wing and Wei tossing aside their wet towels without really taking a look as to where their things would land. 

“Yes, good evening to you too.” Su sighed as she leaned against the doorframe and smiled at her husband who was nearly hidden, as usual, by a mountain of paperwork. 

It was a familiar sight. But what was not familiar was the stilted way her husband turned first one way and then the other, shifting his papers as he tried to pat at his person with his free hand.

“Darling?” Bataar Sr. called as he spun in place, “I seem to have misplaced my spectacles, would you—”

“Check the pocket of your overcoat, dear.” Suyin instructed warmly. 

“Oh, right—of course!” Bataar Sr. exclaimed as he plopped down his papers and darted over to the rack near the door where his coat hung. He rooted around for a moment and then held aloft his prize. 

“Aha! Thank you, dear.” He shoved his glasses up on his nose and then crossed to kiss his wife, “How do you always know?”

“Oh,” Suyin shrugged and then kissed her husband in return, “Woman’s intuition I suppose.”

“Mom!” Wing interrupted, storming into the parlor with a sour look on his face, “Look what Wei did!”

“Did not!” A muffled voice came from beyond one of the closed doors.

“He spilled coffee all over my sleeve!” Wing insisted, proferring his ruined white shirt for his mother to see. 

“Did not!” Wei called again.

“Did too!” Wing retorted.

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Did not!” Wei shouted, “You spilled your own darn coffee!”

“Boys!” Bataar Sr. interrupted, sighing, “That’s enough. You’ll give your mother a headache.”

“Where’s Trudy?” Wing demanded, “Can she wash it before dinner?”

“I’m afraid Trudy’s a little busy at the moment,” Suyin hedged, “But I’m sure we’ll find something else for you dear, come on.” Su led her son into her room and went straight to a pile of shirts Lin had set aside as being far too small for Korra to try. 

“Whoa,” Bataar remarked as he followed in as well. “It looks as if a twister came through here.” 

“Oh, hush.” Suyin chuckled as she plucked a shirt from the top of the stack, “Lin and I were just hoping to find something for Korra to wear, that’s all.” 

“Who?” Bataar glanced over from where he was changing out his cufflinks. 

“Oh, you’ll hear all about her at dinner.” Su shrugged. “She’s a guest of Miss Sato’s tonight and we’re helping her get ready.”

“Ah, yes. Splendid.” Bataar nodded and turned back to his own mirror. “Is she in with Opal then?” 

Suyin bit her lip then, for the first time looking a little worried,

“No, I haven’t seen Opal yet this evening…”

“Hey Dad, can I borrow your mustache comb!” Wing asked as he made his exit, his eyes bright and eager. 

“Certainly not.” Bataar said without looking over his shoulder, “Move along.”

Wing hung his head and moped through the door.

“You mean to say you don’t know where Opal’s got to?” Bataar asked, turning around as he straightened his black tie, “I thought she was with Asami.”

“She _was_.” Suyin sighed. “But then—”

“Excuse me, Miss?” Trudy, the maid, coughed slightly to get Miss Suyin Beifong’s attention and then stepped a little more to the side as she pushed Miss Opal Beifong’s door further open, “What do you think?”

Korra stepped forward slightly, a little nervous, but also strangely— _okay_ , with how it all felt. The shoes were a little more square than she was used to, and she didn’t like standing still in them, but the jacket itself fit so nicely—it didn’t pinch or pull at her shoulders and it made her feel—confident. Suave. Maybe even _charming_ , with a little more practice.

She’d stared at herself in the mirror for at least two minutes before she’d felt brave enough to step out for a second opinion. She thought the suit made her look more solid. Less rugged. 

Suyin’s eyes widened—and then her entire face softened considerably.

“Oh, Korra.” She let out a short laugh, “Why, you shine up like a new penny.”

“Smashing.” Bataar Sr. added from his corner of the room, only sparing a half glance through the glass. “Absolutely smashing.” 

Korra hunched her shoulders a little bashfully and grinned as she brushed her hair from her eyes. 

Noticing the movement, Suyin snapped her fingers,

“Now we’ve just got to do something about that hair. Trudy, go and get Huan’s styling gel. If he puts up a fuss, tell him I’m only borrowing it.” She turned to snatch up two brushes and a comb from her own vanity, but stopped when she noticed the new figure standing in her doorway. 

“Opal, dear! There you are! I was wondering where you’d got to!” 

Opal didn’t respond. She stood motionless, staring with jaw slack and eyes wide, at Korra. At the woman she’d heard praised a thousand different ways—from the children and Bolin and even Asami. They had all said she was the most amazing, the most incredible—and here she was. Larger than life and looking so _handsome,_ Opal thought she might swoon.

 _If Asami were here now_ —Opal got the feeling her friend would feel very much the same way.

“I—ah,” Opal tried to force the words to come, but she was finding it difficult to remember what she was supposed to be answering for. 

She was distracted by the strange feelings boiling in her chest. She wasn’t sure if it was jealousy exactly—she knew Bolin had told her, sincerely, she liked to believe, that his feelings for Korra were purely familial. He loved her like a sister. Like family. But what if he were to see her like this—the cut of the suit accentuating just how strong and bold her shoulders were, its stiff, stark lines drawing all kinds of parallels to the lines of her face and making it impossible _not_ to notice just how impossibly blue and beautiful her eyes were. 

Opal hadn’t—she’d never seen a woman dressed like that. Had never even considered the possibility that a woman could dress like that and still look—so incredibly beautiful. And what if—what if this was a normal thing for Korra? What if Bolin _had_ seen her like this before? What if—what if her first great love liked girls who could wear suits and trousers and—and what if that’s what he preferred? 

_How can I possibly compete with that?_ Opal caught herself thinking moments before tears rose to her eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I—” Opal bit down hard on her tongue and pushed by her mother to make a dash for her room. She slipped around Trudy, ignoring her mother’s inquiries, and slammed the door behind her. 

“Oh dear.” Suyin said, looking concerned. 

“Well that didn’t sound very good, did it?” Bataar Sr. sighed. 

“I’m—I’m sorry, I don’t—” Korra stammered. She had no idea how, but she had the distinct impression that she was the reason the girl named Opal was currently sobbing in her room. 

Bolin would probably be cross if she didn’t at least try to fix it somehow. 

“It’s not your fault, Korra dear. Bataar, could you take the boys ahead?” Suyin asked, worrying her hands as she looked to her daughter’s bedroom door. 

“Of course, darling. You get our girl smiling again.” Bataar squeezed Suyin’s hands comfortingly and then turned to go, “We’ll meet you downstairs.”

“I, ahh—I can go too, if that would be—” Korra started, shuffling a little uncomfortably in her borrowed clothes. 

“Nonsense, this will just take a minute.” Suyin cut across Korra’s suggestion with finality. “Trudy, will you help Korra with her hair please?” 

Suyin took up her post outside of Opal’s door and knocked, “Opal? Opal, sweetheart, is everything alright?” 

Korra tripped along after Trudy to the vanity on the opposite wall and sat down a little stiffly. 

“Up, or down?” The maid asked, startling Korra from watching Suyin trying to coax Opal out of her room.

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Up?” The maid sighed, lifting her own hair up away from her nape with an exasperated eyeroll, “Or down?” She let it fall back. 

“Oh, umm—up?” Korra shrugged.

“Yes then, turn.” The maid instructed, nudging at Korra’s shoulder until she swiveled in the chair to face the mirror. The maid reached for a brush, but was startled when the main door crashed open yet _again—_

And Lin Beifong reappeared in the bedroom doorway.

Su turned away from Opal’s door to glare at her sister,

“Oh, there you are. How nice of you to join us, _Lin_.”

The older Beifong looked grimmer than usual as she stood awkwardly in the doorway to her sister’s bedroom. But when she met Korra’s eyes, Korra recognized the determined set to her jaw.

“Those look nice.” Lin said without preamble, nodding toward Korra and the suit she wore.

“Oh, yeah? Thanks.” Korra drawled, but before she’d even finished, Lin Beifong had thrown something at her. 

“Now take them off and put this on.” 

Korra was taken aback, but instinctively caught whatever it was that Lin had seen fit to throw at her face. 

“What? Lin, don’t be ridiculous.” Su scoffed. “Korra doesn’t have time to try on anything else. Besides, she looks wonderful—” 

“I’m not being ridiculous.” Lin Beifong said evenly, her eyes fixed on Korra.

Suyin snorted and started to protest, but decided against it when she too turned her eyes to Korra.

Korra had gone very quiet—very still, as she stared at the material in her hands. Slowly her expression morphed to one of wonder and confusion.

“Wha—How?” Korra swallowed thickly and glanced up, her head swimming.

“Where did you get this?”

“It belonged to an old friend of mine.” Lin said stiffly, and when Korra opened her mouth to ask another question, the woman with the scars crossed her arms over her chest, “And that’s all I’m going to say about it.” 

Korra wanted to protest, but she got the feeling all attempts would be futile. She’d only known the woman for all of an hour or so, and she'd already figured out that trying to get information out of Lin Beifong was like pulling teeth. 

So Korra pushed aside the questions she had and instead gave herself a moment to run her hands over the worn material. It smelled faintly of mothballs, but the designs were as vibrant as if the dress had only been sewn yesterday. They were in varying shades of blue, accented at the neck and hem with bands of misty grey, the colors of home. And the geometric patterns, the alternating triangles of slate grey and cream were so familiar, Korra could almost taste the pinesmoke on the tip of her tongue. It was a traditional gown—the kind to be worn to weddings or the equinox feast. And Korra had never had one of her own. She’d left the tribe before she’d been grown enough to warrant the making of one.

“It’s beautiful.” Korra murmured. 

“Well are you just going to stare at it,” Lin Beifong asked dryly, “or are you going to put it on?”

The woman still stood stiffly in the doorway, on the fringes, just as aloof as she'd seemed from the beginning. But there was the ghost of a smile on her face now. 

Korra returned it tenfold. 


	21. Oh, the Formalities

Asami was nervous about the impending dinner. But also oddly— _excited_. 

By all accounts, she should be absolutely _dreading_ this dinner, for it would see Varrick trotting out her most personal and private shame and dressing it up as some adventure story for the most privileged of Society—to entertain them. 

It was the very sort of thing that could lead to the ruin her father worried over so often.

She was reminded of this when her father upbraided her up and down the halls of _Titanic_ as he escorted her back to the safety and _privacy_ of their rooms. She had behaved with incredibly crude conduct—chortling and even spitting in public was worse than shameful it was—it was _barbaric_. And Asami agreed wholeheatedly with her father that it was a blessing her fiancé had not been among those who had been forced to witness her unladylike behavor. 

But strangely—Asami found herself thinking less and less about that familiar crowd of wealthy businessmen and privateers and their wives that would fill the dining room, and gravitating more and more toward _Korra_. To the thought of spending just a little more time in her orbit—in the company of those fascinating blue eyes. 

She missed them already. 

She was so preoccupied that she hardly even registered which dress Zhu Li mined from the depths of her closet for her to wear to dinner until it was practically being pulled over her head. There was something new and wonderfully strange in her blood that made it impossible for her to stand still for more than a moment or two at a time.

She kept thinking over the afternoon she’d shared with Korra—all of those soft smiles and her infuriating grins. Those words of encouragement she’d offered without hesitation…the ones she still couldn’t quite bring herself to believe. The woman had seen her cry—had _held_ her while she’d done it. Asami didn’t think she’d ever shared so much of herself with another person—except perhaps her mother, once upon a time. And someone like that—someone who could look at all of her broken pieces and not once flinch away—that sort of person was bound to leave an impact. 

Even if Asami never saw her again after this voyage ended, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to forget Korra—not in ten thousand years. 

“Would you like me to try something else, Miss?” Zhu Li asked a little tightly when she noticed Asami frowning at herself in the mirror for perhaps the fifth time in just as many minutes, turning her head this way and then that. 

The maid could sense a change in her mistress too. 

Asami was often subdued and placable in the dressing room, never fussing over her gowns or jewels the way other young ladies in Zhu Li’s charge had done in the past. And that was not to say that Miss Asami Sato gave no mind to her appearance. The girl had been brought up in a proper English household and was well hearsed in dressing the fashion and making the most of her natural beauty, but Zhu Li had never seen the young woman quite so fidgety and nervous. There was a gleam in her eyes that Zhu Li had never seen before. 

“Oh, I’m sorry Zhu Li, you’ve done a splendid job, as always, I-It’s just that tonight I was hoping for something a little more—” Asami tried to explain weakly, biting her lip in anxiety.

“Say no more, Miss Sato.” Zhu Li silenced her with a smile. She took up the still warm iron for curling and plugged it back into the wall with a flourish, “We’ll have you spiffed up in no time.” 

Asami smiled in gratitude and gladly submitted herself to Zhu Li’s capable hands, her thoughts already on Korra again. Her heart was fluttering in anticipation—would Korra like her gown? Would she even notice that Asami had painted her lips with rouge? 

_For Ravaa’s sake!_ Asami wanted to scold herself. It wasn’t as if Korra of all people would care at all for what she was wearing. The woman had seen her at her absolute worst, in the tatters of that hateful beaded number and still called her _elegant_. 

But she still couldn’t help the little thrill that zinged through her heart when she caught sight of what Zhu Li had managed with her curls—she’d pinned them expertly around her head, almost in flowerlike arrangement about the bun set low at the nape of her neck, but she’d also left a few to dangle and frame her face. It wasn’t too tidy or restricting. 

Asami hoped Korra would like it. 

“Zhu Li, you’re absolutely splendid!” Asami gasped, her eyes shining with thanks. 

Zhu Li beamed, but then snapped her fingers. “Oh dear! I almost forgot!” 

The slight woman darted across the room to retrieve Asami’s milky white opera gloves. “There you are, mustn’t forget to gild the lily.” 

“Thank you.” Asami smiled as she started tugging delicately at the fabric. They were the most impractical things—just a little too much pull and they would tear. But they did complement the dark tones of the black velvet dress she was wearing, so she supposed she couldn’t go without. 

Asami glanced up after a moment, surprised to find that Zhu Li was still watching her. 

“What is it?” Asami asked her maid. 

The woman seemed to consider whether or not to respond for a long moment—long enough for Asami’s heart twinge uneasily. Perhaps all of her smiling and fidgeting and sighing had given herself away. What if it somehow got back to her father that she was acting like a—like a lovesick—

 _That’s not what this is._ Asami told herself sternly, already feeling her cheeks coloring. She was— _fascinated_ with Korra and maybe falling just a little bit for her, but she was old enough to know her own mind and retain complete control of her faculties. She wasn’t one to turn wishy washy and blubbery at a flash of big blue eyes.

 _But it’s not just her eyes_ , a softer, headier voice seemed to whisper in her ear, _it’s her big, toothy, crooked grin, and her rippling muscles and those big, strong artist’s hands_ —

Asami closed her eyes with a grimace, hating that just the _memory_ of Korra touching her hand made her stomach flip so violently. 

Spirits, maybe she _was_ sick with love.

_Damn you, Korra._

“My Lady, are you quite well?” Zhu Li asked with concern, noting the grimace on Asami’s face. 

“Yes, of course. I’m fine.” Asami muttered.

There was a loud knock at the door and Asami blinked up blearily into her father’s face. 

“All ready, then, Princess? We mustn’t be late.” Her father called brusquely, though he appeared to have calmed a great deal since discovering her mid-hack on A Deck. He appraised her with pride, love once again clear in the crinkle about his eyes. 

“Yes father.” Asami smoothed down her dress and gave Zhu Li an appreciate look before stepping forward to take Hiroshi’s arm. 

“Miss—” Zhu Li started and then paused. She gave Asami a soft look, “Just—enjoy yourself tonight.” 

Asami nodded, a little surprised by the sentiment, and allowed herself to be led through the suite and out into the hall. 

“My goodness, you do look absolutely divine, Sweetie.” Hiroshi complimented Asami as they made their way out of toward the dining room, “I do believe Wu will be quite blown away.” 

Asami murmured a quiet thanks, but she wasn’t truly listening to her father. They had slowed to a crawl, to drift along with the other finely dressed passengers slowly making their way through the grand entrance, toward the staircase under the magnificent dome of painted glass, and Asami was too busy nodding and smiling her greetings to their acquaintances who were loitering near the top of the stairs—too busy surreptitiously scanning the crowd for Korra.

She was feeling queasy again. And anxious. 

Spirits, what if something had happened? What if Korra had gotten lost? It was quite a long way from Steerage, no doubt full of twists and turns— 

What if she’d decided not to come after all when she learned Naga wouldn’t be allowed in this part of the ship?

Asami was having difficulty controlling her breathing, her throat seemed to have seized as if in preparation for a great sob, but she felt an enormous wave of relief when she spotted Opal standing not far off with her family—they looked as if they were having some secret conference, perhaps trying to get organized before descending the opulent staircase. 

Asami squeezed her father’s arm, “Father, may I go speak with Opal for a minute before we go down?”

Hiroshi nodded his assent, his lips twisted almost in disapproval as he glanced around, fidgeting out of habit with his pocketwatch, “Yes, I suppose so, my dear. We can’t very well go down without Wu now, can we? Blast, where is he?” 

Asami offered no answer—she honestly didn’t care where her fiancé had gotten off to. She was sure he would make himself known when it suited him; Wu never could resist the shock and awe of arriving fashionably late. 

“Opal!” Asami rose her voice to be heard over the milling crowd and waved, “Opal!” 

Her friend was wearing a soft, lavender dress with a ruffled skirt. Her short hair was held back with a similarly colored band, set with a silver leafed rose near her left ear. Asami thought she looked precious—but when Opal turned at her greeting, Asami could see that her friend had been crying. Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed and swollen, though she did her best to greet her with warmth and a dainty curtsy. 

“Asami, it’s good to see you again—”

“Spirits, Opal, are you all right?” Asami asked, stepping closer so she could put a hand on the younger woman’s arm. “I should have gone back for you, I know that, but I never thought—Bolin seemed such a nice young man, I never would have thought that he would have mistreated you in some way.”

“What? Oh, no—he didn’t.” Opal was quick to reassure Asami, though her smile still looked small and her voice sounded a little raspy. “Please don’t think you did me any harm, Asami, I—I quite enjoyed my afternoon.”

Asami let out a breath of relief, “That’s good to hear. But even so, I shouldn’t have abandoned you. I feel terrible—do you think you can forgive me?” 

Opal covered Asami’s hand with her own and squeezed lightly, “Of course.” 

“But then what has left you in such a state?” Asami asked, brushing lightly beneath Opal’s eye, unable to shake the fear that it was somehow her fault. She had left her friend for several hours today, and gotten so caught up in _Korra_ that she’d forgotten her young companion completely. She should have been a better friend. 

“Oh, nothing.” Opal said, putting on a brave smile, “It’s silly—” 

Asami wanted to protest, to press Opal for more information, but just then she caught sight of her fiancé in his gaudiest of outfits making his way over with President Raiko’s wife hanging on his arm. 

“And there she is! My favorite fruitcake!” Wu called loudly as he strutted by the stewards and toward Asami. 

“Wu, where the blazes have you been?” Hiroshi demanded with a disdainful look at the dwindling crowd, “We’ll be the last ones down in a minute!”

“Don’t worry, Pops.” Wu laughed as carelessly as he always did, “They’d never start the feast without the Prince.”

Asami groaned. 

“Alright then, let’s get this show on the road.” A brash voice cut through the squabble and Asami turned to see Opal’s aunt checking over their small party. “Opal, keep your chin up, it’s dinner, not a funeral. Ah, Buttercup, I see you’ve found a decent enough escort.”

“Oh, why yes—” The older woman started to flub and fan herself, but Lin Beifong had already moved on.

“Mr. Sato, it seems our usual escorts have deserted us for more practical amusements down below. Would you take pity on a pair of old matrons and make sure we don’t make a spectacle of ourselves tripping over these ghastly skirts on the stairs?”

“Lin?!” Suyin sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. “I told you if you wanted me to hem your gown you only had to ask—”

“Too late now.” Lin Beifong shot back without even the tiniest trace of a smile, 

“Any way I can be of service to the esteemed Beifong family, I consider an honor.” Hiroshi inclined his head as he dutifully slipped his pocketwatch back into his trouser pocket to free his hands.

“Marvelous!” Suyin exclaimed, sweeping over to take her place on Hiroshi’s right. “Opal, dear, you’d better take Prince Wu’s other arm and stay close to us.”

“Right, and you can bring up the rear, Asami.” Lin Beifong called casually over her shoulder as she settled stiffly on Hiroshi’s left. 

Asami was startled when the grey-haired, but still exquisitely striking woman turned to fix her with an intense stare,

“My, my—you look very nice.”

Su turned her head as well, her smile warm and charming as she added, “Quite.” 

Asami was a little stunned by the rush of things, so much so that she could think of no way to eloquently respond to the compliments before her father and his charges swept down the stairs—and Wu was close behind, chatting away to the women on either side of him as if he found nothing out of place whatsoever with these arrangements—even though he was leaving his fiancé quite unattended. 

“I hope they’re having lamb again tonight, I just love a good roast lamb. My chef back home, he always made me shepherd’s pie with little bits of lamb inside—” 

“Opal, wait!” Asami darted forward a little frantically—nearly upsetting the delicate balance that she knew descending etiquette to entail, but she just managed to catch Opal’s arm before she set foot on the first of the stairs. 

“I meant to ask—have you seen Korra come through? I’ve been looking for her—” 

Opal didn’t answer so much as gently tilt her head, an odd, almost resigned look clouding her face as she ducked her chin. Asami frowned, confused, but when she looked toward the bottom of the stairs where Opal had seemed to indicate—she saw Korra waiting in the shadows of one of the columns in the foyer.

She looked out of place—no, that wasn’t quite right. 

Korra looked stunning, completely transformed in a dress that seemed incredibly well suited to her strong frame, it draped comfortably around her in a fascinating blend of grey and blue and cream. Asami had never seen anything like it. There were no ruffles or bows or jewels sewn in to the bust—just a simple fringe of cream-colored fur at the hem of the skirt and at Korra’s waist. The material was thicker than the usual gossamer, almost as if it were meant to be worn against the cold, almost like a blanket, and the differing shades of blue and grey were arranged in simple band and triangle patterns. And yet, despite the subtlety, Asami didn’t feel that the dress was at all wanting. 

It was the perfect marriage of strength and femininity, and Korra was a lady in it. 

Men doffed their hats in deference to her. Other ladies smiled and inclined their heads as they would for anyone of their own station—even the way they eyed the fur along the hem and circular cuts in the sleeves of Korra’s dress seemed more a glance of curiosity than derision. 

No, it wasn’t her clothes that set Korra apart. It was the way she fidgeted and peered out at it all with such wide eyes. She hadn’t quite mastered the act, the aloofness one must wear to fit in.

Asami watched, dumbstruck as Korra reached up in that now-familiar gesture to rub absently at the back of her neck when a young man bowed to her. The drape of her sleeve hid away the muscles Asami had grown accustomed to seeing through her pirate’s shirts—but her shoulders were still visible. They were just— _there_. Bare and curved and strong and—

And _then_ Korra did the most unforgivable thing—she turned to look over her shoulder and Asami was suddenly able to see the definition of Korra’s back—the subtle protrusion of her shoulder blades and even _more_ definition at her shoulders and Asami felt her heart take a swan dive. 

She may have swooned just a little—enough that one of the stewards abandoned his post to rush to her aid. 

“Miss! Miss, are you alright?” 

It was highly embarrassing—to suddenly find that her legs would no longer support her, especially when the little dance she was doing trying to find her balance with the steward’s help drew the eyes of many down below. 

But she felt differently about that when she felt Korra’s eyes on her. It lit her up from the inside, burned away even the faintest possibility of shame and she somehow found herself brushing off the poor steward’s hands to take the stairs on her own. 

“Thank you, but I am perfectly alright—” Her voice sounded far away to her own ears. 

The faint music and low hum of conversations coming from the reception hall, the scurrying footsteps of waiters and attendants making last minute checks behind the scenes, even her heels clicking on each and every one of the steps as she descended—all of that faded away. 

There was only Korra, who had finally stepped out into the light, as if she could feel that soul-deep pull as well. 

She stood, a point of stillness in a never-ending parade, at the foot of the stairs. Her blue eyes were fixed on Asami. 

Asami found herself drawn to her, as if by some instinct beyond that ingrained knowledge that it was what was expected—that the stairs were merely part of the path she must take to follow after her father and all the others into the reception hall just like everyone else. None of that mattered any longer. She was chasing an ache—drawn back into Korra’s orbit where she knew it was safe. 

Asami pulled up short on the final step, her breath catching as she soaked Korra’s face in in full. Her short hair had been straightened and pulled back into an elegant bun, prominently displaying her forehead, broad and proud. Her face was open and eager, framed by those locks of dark brown hair that had been pinned back away from her face—though there were a few wisps that refused the restraints and fell ever so delicately over her eyes. But even so, Asami thought she looked so beautiful. Her eyes were gleaming with an eager light—maybe even a little bit of nervousness. 

Asami’s heart pounded and she swallowed thickly, trying to pull on years of practiced decorum for something to say—

But Korra beat her to it. 

“Should I—curtsy or bow?” Korra asked tentatively, her cheeks coloring slightly.

Asami was moved by the look in her eyes—she looked determined to get it right.

“I don’t think it matters.” Asami offered, gently. 

Korra’s eyes snapped back up to her face and Asami once again felt as if her heart sputtered in her chest. 

“It does.” Korra insisted stubbornly. 

Asami resisted the urge to laugh—to chortle or tease. Instead she straightened her shoulders and extended her hand, doing her best to appear as lofty as she could. 

“You may take my hand—” 

Korra did. She took Asami’s hand reverently and bent over it, her eyes still glued to Asami’s face as she brushed her lips lightly over the back of Asami’s hand. Asami had tensed—hoping to steel herself against the rush of heat she knew she’d feel at the slightest hint of contact, but then felt overwhelmingly disappointed when she realized that she’d worn her stupid gloves—why on earth had she done that? Hadn’t Korra told her that she admired her hands? And here she was, hiding them away and dashing any and all hopes that she’d even get to feel Korra’s lips on her skin—

Spirits, she was such an idiot.

“I saw that in a nickelodeon once and I’ve always wanted to do it,” Korra whispered almost breathlessly—her eyes gleamed. 

And Asami couldn’t help but smile in kind, her frustration evaporating in the face of Korra’s excitement. 

“Well, you get full marks from me. Very well done.” Asami praised, taking a moment to gather herself before she stepped down more sturdily beside Korra. 

The artist went a little rigid, clearly surprised that Asami had stepped so close, but Asami just slipped her arm through Korra’s, careful to keep her head turned away and her smile only _appropriately_ pleasant—to hide how deeply she herself was affected by the proximity. There were eyes everywhere, even out here in the foyer where it was more common for friends to pair off to take a turn or tuck themselves away into a corner to indulge in brief, hushed conversation before taking that step into the reception hall where they would be expected to make usual rounds—where nothing was private. Asami was aware of that as she drew Korra away from the stairs—hoping against hope that her father wouldn’t notice her absence. That she could have just a little more time with her brave new friend (and her dazzling eyes) before they’d have to stoop to convention and join everyone else—where they’d inevitably be separated. 

But knowing her father, she would only have moments. 

“Korra, you must tell me where you got that dress.” Asami murmured as she walked a very measured step beside Korra, “It really is extraordinary. And I’m loving the hair.” 

Korra grinned, and Asami could see a little color dusting her cheeks. 

“Thanks. I can’t take any credit for it, though. One of Suyin’s maids did it for me, and Lin lent me the dress. Do you like it?” 

“Of course I do,” Asami answered easily, “I have never seen its equal.” 

“Oh.” Korra nodded, but she looked a little confused. The corners of her mouth twitched in a decidedly downward direction.

Asami bit her lip to keep from chuckling—she had to remind herself that Korra was not so well hersed in small talk. 

She drew up to a halt in the shadow of the pillar Korra had taken refuge in before, and allowed herself to finally turn and face Korra again—risking all of the heart-pounding and hot flushes she knew would come with it. 

“What I should have said, Korra,” Asami said quietly, keeping her tone soft—gentle evem. “Was that I admire the dress. It’s beautiful—and you are breathtaking in it.” 

Korra’s face broke into one of her grins again, and she gave a slight shrug. 

“Gee, thanks. I don’t usually wear dresses, and Suyin was trying to help me find a suit, but then Lin barged in and gave me this and I don’t know, I—I actually really like it.”

 _I do too_ , Asami had to bite her tongue to keep from saying it too quickly—too eagerly. _I really, really do._

She forced herself to breathe, to keep her tone light. 

“I’m glad. Although I’m sure you would have looked just as dapper in a suit and tie, I—” Asami’s hands had moved of their own accord, reaching out to smooth a nonexistent wrinkle from the high collar of Korra’s dress—she froze with her fingers just brushing the skin of Korra’s throat. 

_Spirits_ , what was she doing?! This was too bold, too—too _forward_. This was an almost _intimate_ touch, and she shouldn’t—she shouldn’t risk it!

Asami couldn’t bring herself to meet Korra’s gaze—panic made her mouth go dry and she swallowed thickly, “I really like you like this.”

Asami waited with baited breath—Korra’s body seemed to thrum beneath her fingers when she chuckled.

“You’re so sweet,”

Asami took a shuddering breath and glanced up then, afraid that she’d find Korra laughing at her, her eyes full of teasing, but—Korra didn’t look anything but sincere. 

Asami could feel her blood warming again, and she was surprised that her dreary heart could make such an astonishing leap in her chest, considering how heavy it had felt only a moment ago. 

“And you’re looking as—as _snazzy_ as always.” Korra added, if a little clunkily. 

Asami’s cheeks colored, somehow Korra’s compliment struck her more deeply than any other she’d heard tonight—or perhaps ever in her entire life.

Somehow she managed to stammer, “I—thank you.” 

But then her creative faculties seemed to grind to a halt, and she was at a loss for something intelligent to say. 

Korra was still smiling steadily at her, clearly unperturbed by the sudden silence. 

But Asami’s heart and mind were both racing—because they couldn’t just stand here _looking at each other_. That wasn’t—that wasn’t allowed. That wasn’t _safe_. Because Korra’s eyes could pierce right through her if given the chance, and that was—that was _terrifying_. 

“Ah, there you are, gumdrop!”

Asami almost found it in herself to be grateful for Wu’s interruption— _almost_.

“Pops sent me to come find you. He wants to make sure we find our seats before the room gets too overcrowded.” Wu explained, pulling a face, “And you know, I think he’s perfectly right, it’s already stuffy in there and with all of Varrick’s equipment taking up half the place I don’t even know if I’ll have room to stretch out properly.”

“Of course.” Asami interjected smoothly, reluctantly unfolding her arm from Korra’s.

She bought herself an extra moment or two to compose herself by paying her gloves some unnecessary attention, tugging at them to smooth out the nonexistent crinkles—but then, she had to look up and keep her face neutral. 

“Wu, you remember Miss Dawson?” 

Asami knew there was no possible way that her fiancé did _not_ remember Korra—how could he ever forget the woman from steerage who had refused his gifts and spoken to him without proper deference in front of all his friends? But whether or not he _recognized_ her—was another matter entirely. 

Asami watched, resigned, as Wu did a double take. 

“Oh, yes, of co—oh. Oh, _wow_. Dawson, you say? Gosh, I can’t even believe it’s you, you look so—so _different_. Almost like a lady.” Wu appraised, his bushy eyebrows high up on his forehead in surprise. 

“Wu.” Asami practically barked, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. 

“No, no, I mean it!” Wu defended, as if under the impression it was his intent that was the cause of Asami’s distress rather than his manner in general, which was abysmal, “Last night she looked so strange in those boy clothes and now she’s so glamorous—”

“Strange is not always without its charm.” Asami interrupted, glowering at her fiancé. 

Wu just snorted and tossed his wrist flippantly, “Eh. I say potato, you say legume—” 

“Why would she say legume?” Korra asked, for the first time looking away from Asami’s profile to frown down at Wu who just so happened to be a few inches shorter than them both. 

“Oh I don’t know.” Wu admitted with a genuine laugh, “It’s just such a fun word to say, isn’t it? Le-gume. Leeee-gume. Legggg-ume.”

“Didn’t you say that we should be going in?” Asami interrupted, fighting a new headache. 

Wu snapped his fingers, flashing one of his most charming smiles, “Sure thing, my sweetest potato! Miss Dawson, if you’d just take my arm there—say, do you think you could do a little twirl for me? I want to get the full of effect.” 

Korra looked not only affronted, but perplexed, “What? No!” 

Asami swallowed a groan and craned her neck to catch Korra’s eye over the top of Wu’s head. He was pouting again, so absorbed in grumbling about how he hadn’t gotten his way, that he remained completely unaware of the look Asami gave Korra—one that said, _I am so, so sorry_. 

Korra’s response was a knowing smirk and an eyeroll—a decidedly new combo that sent Asami’s stomach flip flopping. 

_Spirits_ , how was she supposed to get through a whole dinner if just _one look_ from Korra could affect her like that?


End file.
